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V-  '^■ij;]jN'oPV>^ 


THE 


BARCLAYS   OP   BOSTON. 


BY 


MRS.   HARRISON    GRAY    OTIS. 


'  And  thus  'tis  cvfir  ;  what's  within  our  ken 
Owl-like,  we  blink  at,  and  direct  our  search 
To  farthest  Inde  in  quest  of  novelties  ; 
Whilst  here  at  home,  upon  our  very  thresholds, 
Ten  thousand  objects  hurtle  into  view, 
Of  interest  wonderful.' 


BOSTON: 
TICKNOR,     REED,     AND     FIELDS, 

MDCCCLIV. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Conjrress,  in  tlie  year  ]854,  by 

TicKNOR,  Reed,  and  Fields, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  MassachuBctts. 


THrnSTON',  TOimV,    AND    EMERSON',   PnlNTKHS. 


5?^^ 


^0  tlje  ^rmovg 

OF 

WILLIAM   HENDERSON  BORDMAN, 

A    BOSTON     MERCHANT, 
IS    THIS    BOOK 

RESPECTFULLY  AND  AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED, 

BY 

HIS    DAUGHTER. 


ENGLISH 


THE  BAECLAYS  OF  BOSTON. 


CHAPTER   I. 

'  I  was  a  child,  and  she  vras  a  child, 
In  that  kingdom  by  the  sea.' 

POE. 

In  the  cloak-room  of  a  brilliantly  illuminated  house  in 
Chestnut  street  in  Boston,  the  capital  of  Massachusetts, 
stood  a  laughter-loving,  gay,  and  particularly  handsome 
youth,  over  whose  bright  and  sunny  curls  some  seventeen 
years  had  passed,  holding  in  his  hand  a  bunch  of  English 
violets,  and  eagerly  awaiting  the  arrival  of  his  '  ladye  love.' 

Start  not,  gentle  reader,  at  this  announcement ;  such 
things  occur  even  in  the  over-educated  and  overstrained 
city  of  the  Puritan  fathers. 

Young  love  !  what  a  sad  pity  that  the  only  obstacle  aris- 
ing, in  after  years,  when  the  tender  passion  exists  and 
overwhelms  its  deluded  victims  so  early  in  life,  is  the 
manifest  difficulty  of  remembering  and  ascertaining  the 
idolized  object  of  the  *  first  dream,'  and  that  the  scent  of 
the  roses,  instead  of  embalming  the  fair  vision,  should  be 
lost  in  oblivion. 

But  who  thinks  of  after  days  at  seventeen  ?  So  our 
boy-lover,  if  you  will,  was,  in  time,  rewarded  for  his  patient 
watch  by  the  entrance  of  a  pair  of  beauties  and  incipient 
1 


4  THE    BARCLAYS 

belles,  so  extraordinarily  alike,  that  even  the  youthful  swain 
himself,  enamored  as  he  was,  and  seeing  them  as  often  as 
he  possibly  could,  now  and  then  mistook  one  for  the  other, 
and  was,  much  to  his  heartfelt  mortification,  frequently 
puzzled  to  distinguish  the  fascinating  ]\Iiss  Georgiana  Bar- 
clay from  her  no  less  attractive  sister,  Miss  Grace.  In 
point  of  fact,  there  is  every  reason  to  believe  that,  if 
Charley  Sanderson,  the  young  gentleman  -with  the  violets, 
had  been  cited  to  positively  affirm  at  which  of  these  lovely 
shrines  he  absolutely  bowed  and  sighed,  he  could  have 
hardly  so  promptly  answered  as  the  exigencies  of  his  appa- 
rently desperate  love  passage  would  seem  to  demand. 

At  any  rate,  Mr.  Charley  made  his  very  best  dancing- 
school  bow,  oflered  the  flowers,  which  were  graciously  ac- 
cepted, and  requested  the  honor  of  Miss  Georgiana  Barclay's 
hand  in  the  first  dance,  and  was  not  denied  the  boon  he  so 
earnestly  craved.  Just  then  he  suddenly  recollected  a  very 
important  message  with  which  he  had  been  charged,  and 
addressing  the  fair  young  creature  before  him,  he  ex- 
claimed, '  Oh !  Miss  Barclay,  the  extreme  pleasure  of 
beholding  you  has  nearly  caused  mc  to  forget  that  my 
very  shy  brother  Gerald  is  awaiting  my  return  to  him  in 
the  hall,  I've  no  doubt  with  immense  impatience.  I  have 
literally  dragged  him  here  to-night  under  a  solemn  promise 
that  I  would  use  all  the  very  small  influence  I  possess  in 
your  quarter,  to  persuade  you  to  dance  with  him  ;  you  well 
know  he  goes  nowhere,  and  never  speaks  to  any  young 
ladies.  Now  I  have  told  him  such  pleasant  tales  of  your  en- 
gaging and  agreeable  ways,  frank  and  charming  manners, 
that,  having  lured  him  here,  I  am  bound,  even  if  I  must 
renounce  my  own  coveted  dance,  to  entreat  you  to  smile 
upon  him.  Gerald  declares  he  will  not  enter  this  room 
unless  you  promise  to  patronize  him,  so  please  be  kind,  as 
you  always  are.' 

Now,  it  must  be  confessed,  that  the  youthful  school-girl 
to  whom  this  speech  was  addressed,  had  begun  to  half  com- 


OF     BOSTON.  y 

prehend  the  power  of  her  superlative  charms,  and  in  some 
degree  to  take  state  upon  herself  in  consequence  ;  so  she 
listened  and  smiled,  and  replied  that,  if  Mr.  Gerald  San- 
derson did  not  think  her  of  sufficient  consequence  to  prefer 
his  suit  personally  and  ask  her  himself,  she  would  not 
dance  with  him  at  all.  This  response  seemed  to  crush  at 
once  all  Charley's  hopes,  as  he  was  perfectly  sure  it  would 
be  entirely  impossible  for  Gerald  to  gather  sufficient  courage 
to  venture  into  the  presence  of  the  youthful  beauty,  and 
fairly  pronounce  all  the  words  requisite  for  such  a  porten- 
tous occasion,  he  being,  without  exception,  the  most  blush- 
ingly  diffident  youth  in  his  native  city.  So  Charley  waited, 
and  coaxed,  and  flattered  not  a  little,  and  prayed  and  con- 
jured, but  all  to  no  purpose,  until  he  was  fairly  wearied,  and 
then  he  thought  he  would  run  away  for  a  moment,  find  his 
brother  and  see  what  could  be  done  with  him,  since  the 
lady  was  so  exacting  and  obdurate,  and  accordingly  he 
disappeared. 

Grace  Barclay,  who  was  all  the  while  standing  by  her 
sister's  side,  when  Charley  fled,  ventured  to  remonstrate 
with  her  upon  her  obduracy,  declaring  that  she  had  always 
heard  that  Gerald  Sanderson  was  overpowered  by  his 
diffidence  and  shyness,  and  that  his  case  seemed  to  demand 
encouragement  rather  than  rebuffs  ;  but,  as  Grace  always 
leaned  to  the  aggrieved,  Georgiana  held  firmly  to  her  un- 
shaken resolution,  and  reiterated  her  opinion  that  the  least 
Gerald  Sanderson  could  do,  was  to  appear  and  personally 
plead  his  own  cause  ;  besides,  she  said,  it  would  be  very 
beneficial  for  him  to  be  obliged  to  make  the  effort. 

Grace  Barclay,  finding  she  could  do  nothing  for  the  shy 
youth,  laughed  and  strolled  towards  a  group  of  young 
things,  and  assisted  them  to  disencumber  themselves  of  an 
immense  quantity  of  shawls,  cloaks  and  hoods  with  which 
they  had  been  loaded  by  their  over-careful  friends.  Mean- 
while, Georgiana  awaited  the  coming  of  the  brothers,  and 
as  she  was  imagining  how  Gerald  Sanderson,   whom  she 


4  THK    BARCLAYS 

had  never  seen,  but  of  whom  she  had  heard  many  strange 
things,  would  comport  himself,  her  attention  \vas  aroused 
by  a  slight  movement  behind  her  ;  she  turned  and  looked 
upon  a  face  and  form  which,  once  beheld,  could  never  be 
forgotten.  A  tall  youth  was  gazing  upon  her  with  the  most 
intense  admiration  ;  he  seemed  to  her  a  man,  for  he  had 
numbered  twenty  years :  large  masses  of  black,  silky  hair 
fell  heavily  over  a  brow  of  great  breadth  and  expansion,  a 
finely  chiselled  nose,  a  rather  large  mouth,  with  perfect 
teeth ;  but  the  eyes  !  the  eyes  were  marvellous.  There  was 
an  irresistible  fascination  about  them  ;  it  would  have  been 
quite  impossible  to  decide  upon  their  color;  indeed  they 
were  hardly  alike,  but  their  variety  of  expression,  their 
sentiment,  and  the  flashing  light  v.hich  emanated  from 
them,  every  one  could  see  and  feel. 

Tieck  somewhere  in  his  fairy  tales  compares  the  eyes 
of  his  heroine  to  those  of  green  snakes,  and  endues  them 
with  all  the  fascination  which  is  said  to  belong  to  that  tor- 
tuous and  sapient  race.  If  Georgy  Barclay  had  ever  read 
the  German  author  above  mentioned,  the  same  idea  would 
have  immediately  presented  itself  to  her  mind  ;  but  at  that 
period,  her  reading  had  hardly  embraced  the  Teutonic,  and 
she  was  just  emerging  from  the  everlasting  Florian  and 
Telemachus,  which  teachers  persist  in  inflicting  upon  their 
vounff  charges,  without  the  remotest  chance  of  any  taste  for 
the  French  language,  or  its  literature  being  inspired  by  their 
perusal. 

This  tall  youth,  meanwhile,  never  desisting  from  his  ar- 
dent and  searching  glances,  bowed  ])rofoundly  to  Georgy, 
and,  with  a  quiet  smile,  avowed  that  he  liad  heard  the  whole 
conversation  between  licrself  and  sister;  that  he  well  knew 
he  was  entirely  unworthy  of  the  honor  she  had  denied  his 
brother's  pleadings:  but  that  he  could  not  refrain  from  ex- 
pressing his  sorrow  at  the  refusal  of  his  request ;  that  he 
should  never  more  annoy  her  in  the  sanie  way,  and  asked 
but  one  thing  of  her,  that  she  would  not  forget  him;  then 


OF    BOSTON.  O 

kissing  the  tips  of  his  fingers  to  her,  he  gracefully  glided 
away. 

As  the  young  creature  looked  after  him,  in  amazement, 
he  suddenly  re-appeared,  and  said,  'I  have  but  one  more 
favor  to  ask  of  you,  ]\Iiss  Barclay,  and  it  is,  that  you  will 
never  mention  this  meeting  to  my  brother ;  he  will  surely 
bo  offended  with  me,  and  I  pray  you,  allow  me  to  rely  on 
your  kindness  in  this  matter.'  Georgy  bowed  her  assent, 
and  he  departed.  Soon  came  Charley,  quite  breathless  in 
the  exertions  he  had  made  to  find  his  lost  brother,  as  he 
called  him  ;  he  declared  Gerald  had  been  spirited  away, 
that,  at  first,  he  presumed  he  had  wearied  of  waiting,  and 
so  great  was  his  desire  to  induce  him  to  join  the  party, 
that  he  had  actually  gone  home  for  him.  Then,  not  finding 
him  there,  he  returned  and  searched  all  the  rooms  unavail- 
ingly.  'And  now,'  exclaimed  he,  '  I  find  you,  Miss  Barclay, 
standing  exactly  where  I  left  you ;  you  must,  I  am  fearful, 
think  me  ver^-,  very  rude  to  have  permitted  you  to  wait  so 
long  for  me  ;  but  really  Gerald  is  so  odd,  that,  at  times, 
I  find  him  very  difficult  to  manage,  and  my  temper  is  a  little 
bit  tried  with  his  vagaries.  Now,  to-night,  Gerald  vowed 
he  would  not  come  unless  I  could  persuade  you  to  dance 
with  him,  and  when  I  go  for  him  he  has  disappeared,  not 
even  having  had  the  politeness  to  await  my  coming.  With 
your  answer,  it  will  be  a  long  time  before  I  venture  upon 
another  such  silly  errand  for  him.' 

Then  relenting,  for  Charley  dearly  loved  this  much  abused 
brother,  he  added,  'But  after  all,  poor  Gerald  is  so  shy!' 
Georgy  thought  she  could  give,  if  she  would,  quite  another 
version  of  this  shy  relative,  but  said  nothing,  and  as  Charley 
was  entirely  occupied  with  endeavoring  to  account  for  the 
truant's  mysterious  disappearance,  he  did  not  observe  that 
the  lady  of  his  thoughts  seemed  to  have  hers  equally  ab- 
sorbed. Yet  such  was  the  thorough  good-nature  of  Charley 
Sanderson,  that,  before  the  evening  was  half  finished,  he 
had  totally  forgotten  the  whole  of  poor  Gerald's  misde- 
1* 


6  THE    BARCLAYS 

meanors,  and  never  remembered  to  reproach  him  with  them 
any  more. 

In  any  other  family  than  that  of  the  Sandersons  this  little 
adventure  might  have  created  much  amusement;  but  Gerald 
had  so  few  pleasures,  was  so  immersed  in  his  books  and 
studies,  was  so  averse  to  all  sociability,  having  no  friend  but 
his  brother  whom  he  adored,  that,  even  when  Gerald  had 
done  his  very  worst,  Charley  could  never  make  up  his  mind 
to  hiflict  the  slightest  annoyance  upon  him ;  so  the  whole 
affair  was  passed  over,  as  many  similar  things  had  been 
before,  without  comment. 

Charley  offered  his  arm  to  Miss  Georgy,  and  Grace  fol- 
lowing them,  they  all  made  their  obeisances  in  due  form  to 
the  amiable  hostess,  who  had  given  herself  the  trouble  to 
collect  together  this  youthful  party  ;  they  then  proceeded  to 
the  ball-room. 

Mrs.  Ashley,  the  lady  at  whose  house  this  juvenile  society 
was  united,  had  no  children,  and  like  many  women  in  the 
same  happy,  or  unhappy,  predicament,  was  immensely  ad- 
dicted to  entertaining  all  the  little  people  in  her  own  par- 
ticular hemisphere,  which,  it  must  be  conceded,  extended 
far  and  wide.  She  was,  as  may  be  supposed,  vastly  popular, 
and  though  many  well-judging  mothers  totally  condemned 
her  hospitalities,  still  they  were  cried  into  and  coaxed  into 
compliance  with  the  ardent  desires  and  wishes  of  their  dar- 
lings. To  be  present  at  one  of  i\Irs.  Ashley's  children's 
balls  was  the  event  of  a  life,  not  a  very  long  one,  to  be 
sure,  and,  as  the  agony  conse([uent  upon  a  denial  of  this 
supreme  felicity  was  much  more  than  could  be  inflicted 
upon  the  rising  generation,  by  their  wise  ])rogenitors,  the 
question  was  ever,  '  Why  does  Mrs.  Ashley  give  these 
balls  ? ' 

Nobody  amongst  the  mothers  seemed  dulv  grateful.  It 
was  objected,  that  these  balls  were  too  expensively  ordered, 
the  refreshments  too  elaborate,  and  the  dresses  too  fine,  in 
fact,  saving  that  the  heads  of  the  guests,  in  many  instances. 


OF    BOSTON.  7 

but  reached  the  top  of  the  festive  board,  there  was  small 
difference  between  the  '  baby  balls '  and  those  with  which 
Mrs.  Ashley  favored  her  five  hundred  friends  who  had 
reached  years  of  discretion  on  other  occasions.  Many 
were  the  remonstrances  made  to  the  lady,  but  give  them 
she  would  and  did,  and,  moreover,  found  plenty  of  guests 
amidst  the  ranks  of  her  most  decided  opposers. 

Charley  Sanderson,  in  all  the  ardor  of  his  devotions,  it  is 
grievous  to  relate,  had  totally  forgotten  Grace  Barclay  ;  but 
Gracy,  the  darling !  little  recked  she  of  his  obliviousness ; 
he  had  escorted  Geurgy,  and  was  not  that  cause  sufficient 
for  not  remembering  a  hundred  other  pretty  little  girls  ? 
And  Grace  followed  her  sister,  which,  by  the  bye,  was  the 
very  best  way  of  distinguishing  the  two  girls  apart,  as  cun- 
ning Jane  Redmond,  an  older  schoolmate  of  the  Barclays 
remarked  to  her  brother  Robert  that  very  evening,  when  he 
was  stating  his  complete  inability  to  say  if  Georgy  or  Grace 
Barclay  were  dancing  with  Charley  Sanderson. 

'You  must  know,'  said  Jane  Redmond,  'that  Gracy  so 
ridiculously  worships  Georgy  that  she  actually  fancies  herself 
a  thousand  times  less  beautiful,  accomplished  and  excellent 
than  her  sister,  and  has  such  a  trick  of  always  following 
her!' 

'  I  thank  you  for  once,  sister  mine,'  replied  Robert  Red- 
mond ;  '  I  will  not  forget  this  precious  bit  of  information.' 

'  And  then,' said  Jane,  still  continuing  her  gossip,  'how 
can  you  know  otherwise  which  is  which  ?  Look  at  Georgy's 
transcendently  beauteous  blue  eyes!'  (Miss  Jane  was  ever 
prodigal  of  superlatives),  '  and  then  those  long,  rich,  golden 
curls  are  exactly  similar  to  Gracy's,  then  their  undulating 
and  fairy-like  forms,  and  their  small  feet !  Then  their 
height,  precisely  alike,  they  certainly  are  both  perfect,  and 
how  1  do  hate  them  ! ' 

'  Hate  them  ! '  almost  screamed  her  brother  ;  '  why  I 
thought  you  were  very  intimate  with  them,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing,  Jane ;  it's  quite  shocking  to  hear  you  talk  so 
violently.' 


8  THE    BARCLAYS 

Mr.  Robert  was  twenty  and  a  little  bit  over,  and  imagined 
himself  quite  a  senior  in  this  assemblage,  and  had  been 
thinking  that  both  he  and  his  sister  were  quite  out  of  their 
own  set  amidst  troops  of  children,  when  the  appearance  of 
the  sisters  changed  his  views. 

'  And  so  I  am  intimate,  but  do  detest  Gcorgy,  though  I'm 
not  quite  so  sure  that  I  entertain  the  same  feeling  for  Gracy  ; 
it  is  more  difficult  to  do  so,  for  she  is  half  an  angel  at  least, 
the  most  disinterested  person  I  ever  saw ;  she  never  thinks 
of  herself.' 

'  I  never  demand  a  reason  for  any  of  your  unreasonable 
prejudices,'  observed  Robert  Redmond,  and  immediately 
strolled  across  the  room,  and  invited  the  '  half  an  angel '  to 
dance  with  him,  —  a  very  bold  manikin  that ! 

Gracy  Barclay  danced  with  Robert  Redmond  and  with 
sundry  little  gentlemen  all  the  evening  ;  enjoyed  herself,  and 
imagined  that  all  the  admiration  she  excited  must  proceed 
from  the  fortuitous  circumstance  of  her  being  Georgj^'s 
sister.  Although  this  affectionate  young  creature  was  con- 
stantly mistaken  for  Georgiana,  even  by  the  most  intimate 
friends  of  her  family,  and  although  frequently,  in  their 
childish  jests,  they  could  exchange  their  seats,  even  in  con- 
versation with  visitors,  and  remain  undiscovered  ;  yet  still 
she  persisted  in  believing  her  sister  to  be  infinitely  superior 
to  herself  in  every  way,  morally  and  physically.  That  this 
lovely  pair  should  have  been  pronounced  the  belles  of  the 
evening  was  not  extraordinary,  for  there  were  added  to  their 
great  personal  charms  goodness,  gentleness  and  sweetness, 
and  remarkable  self-possession,  and  if  Georgiana  Barclay 
had  a  slight  shade  more  pretension  than  her  sister  Grace,  it 
was  overlooked  in  favor  of  lier  amiability. 

There  was  the  most  undisguised  admiration  of  their  charms 
exhibited  by  their  attendant  admirers,  and  a  vast  deal  of 
flattery  from  the  young  girls  who  are  often  as  decided 
adorers.  In  fact,  nothing  is  more  common  among  school- 
girls than  the  getting  up  of  extravaganzas  and  partisanship. 


OF    BOSTON.  y 

just  as  they  begin  to  discard  their  dolls  and  kittens,  and 
their  superabounding  energies  and  affections  must  be  lavish- 
ed on  something.  The  dance  proceeded,  and  when  late  in 
the  night  this  juvenile  party  broke  up,  there  appeared  to  be 
pretty  much  the  same  amount  of  lassitude  and  weariness  as 
upon  similar  occasions  when  older  people  do  congregate, 
though  proceeding  from  other  causes. 

In  the  first  place,  they  had  all  remained  too  late  ;  they  had 
eaten  too  much  of  all  manner  of  rich  and  unhcalthful  food 
at  an  unwonted  liour ;  many  liad  danced  until  they  could  not 
stir  a  foot,  and  were  utterly  incapacitated  for  any  work  what- 
ever at  school  the  next  day,  and  more,  might  possibly  feel 
the  ill  effects  of  this  unnatural  dissipation  for  weeks.  Sec- 
ondly, though  the  Barclays  and  others  had  danced  to  sati- 
ety, some  poor  young  things  had  been  obliged  to  sit  still 
nearly  all  the  evening,  except  when  the  good-natured  and 
attentive  hostess  had  interfered  and  protested  against  exclu- 
slveness ;  which  was,  to  say  the  least,  rather  mortifying  to 
the  neglected  juvenilities. 

The  youngest  of  the  girls  stoutly  objected  to  being  forced 
upon  their  reluctant  partners  quite  as  obstinately  as  if  they 
had  been  older.  As  to  the  boys,  who  declined  dancing 
with  these  tiny  tits,  they  had,  if  they  had  been  cognisant  of 
the  important  historical  fact,  the  authority  of  no  less  a  per- 
sonage than  the  Grand  Monarch,  Louis  the  Fourteenth  him- 
self, who,  in  his  fifteenth  year,  pouted  and  scouted  at  the 
proposition  made  him  by  his  august  mother,  to  lead  forth  a 
small  girl  of  twelve,  and  a  princess  to  boot.  Thus  it  appears 
that  the  great  and  little  world  have  been  always  the  same. 
'There  is  nothing  new  under  the  sun,'  sayeth  the  proverb. 

Superadded  to  these  objections  were  the  facts,  that  the 
children  had  indulged  in  strictures  upon  dress,  cakes,  and 
confections,  and,  worse  still,  upon  persons  ;  costume  and 
character  had  been  criticised  alike  ;  and,  as  amusements  are 
not  very  abundant,  and  certainly  not  extremely  various  in 
America,  it  would  appear  to  be  rather  the  safest  plan  not  to 


10  THE    BARCLAYS 

exhaust  them  too  early  in  life.  There  is  no  reason  why- 
children  should  not  enjoy  themselves,  and  be  made  cheerful 
and  happy,  but  this  result  can  only  be  attained  by  simplicity 
in  their  pleasures,  simplicity  in  their  diet  and  dress,  and 
early  hours.  All  deviations  from  these  rules  create  fictitious 
wants  and  desires,  and  encompass  with  clouds  the  rainbow 
in  the  bright  sky  of  their  young  days. 


OF     BOSTON.  11 


CHAPTER  II. 


'  Sparrows  must  not  build  in  liis  house  eaves.' 

SlIAIvSPEAKE. 

In  the  northern  part  of  Boston,  amidst  dwellings  which 
were,  in  bye-past  days,  occupied  by  its  most  influential 
inhabitants,  stood  a  large  square,  precise  looking  house  ;  it 
was  of  wood,  but  painted  and  sanded  in  imitation  of  gray 
stone ;  the  windows  were  wide  and  airy,  and  their  glass 
panes  glittering  with  extreme  cleanliness. 

The  approach  to  quite  an  imposing  front  entrance,  witli 
an  immense  brass  lion-headed  knocker,  was  laid  down  in 
square  blocks  of  granite,  the  sides  bordered  with  boxwood 
and  grass,  the  stones,  the  grass  and  the  boxwood  all  as 
freshly  clean  as  the  window-panes.  On  the  whole,  this 
establishment  might  well  have  been  called  '  a  marvellous 
proper  one,'  as  it  frequently  was. 

Many  were  the  gazers  at  that  old  place,  (for  it  had  even 
some  architectural  pretensions,)  who,  regarding  it  most  rev- 
erentially, would  say,  in  under-toned  voices,  '  That  is  the 
rich  Philip  Egerton's  house.'  Such  is  the  magical  power 
of  great  Avealth  over  the  masses,  that  even  the  possessor 
of  a  fine  house  is  mentioned  after  a  different  fashion  from 
his  less  favored  brethren. 

The  grand  front  door  of  Mr.  Philip  Egerton's  residence, 
swinging  back  on  its  heavy,  creaking  hinges,  presented  to 
the  persons  who  entered,  and  very  few  they  were,  a  large, 
dark  and  deep  hall,  with  a  remarkably  handsome  flight  of 


12  THE    BARCLAYS 

Stairs  ornamented  with  rich  carvings,  and  having  not  only 
broad  landings,  but  permitting  two  persons  to  ascend  side  by 
side,  a  little  circumstance  which  would  vastly  improve  many 
dwellings  now,  situated  in  more  favored  resorts.  On  the 
right-hand  side  of  this  hall  was  a  gloomy,  square  parlor, 
panelled  richly  with  curiously  painted  pictures,  which 
artistic  work  must  have  been  executed  at  least  a  hundred 
years  before  the  date  of  this  veracious  description  ;  the 
furniture,  coeval  with  the  pannelling,  was  composed  of  two 
small  tables,  an  uncommonly  uncomfortable  sofa,  and  pre- 
cisely one  dozen  equally  disagreeable  chairs,  all  planted  so 
curiously  and  firmly  against  the  walls  that  they  looked  as  if 
they  never  had  been,  never  could  be,  and  never  would  be 
moved.  In  fact,  if  at  any  period  a  displacing  had  actually 
occurred,  no  one  remembered  the  portentous  event,  but  then 
they,  one  and  all,  chairs,  tables  and  sofa,  were  polished  to 
such  a  pitch  of  perfection  as  quite  beggars  description. 
The  carpet  on  this  sombre  state  apartment  was  as  sad  col- 
ored as  the  plenishing,  and  very  unyielding.  The  corres- 
ponding room  on  the  left  side  of  the  hall,  contained  a 
threadbare  covering  on  its  floor,  a  square  dining-tablc  and 
four  chairs,  a  huge  sideboard  and  an  immense  full-length 
portrait  of  a  remarkably  grim  and  severe  looking  gentle- 
man, whose  face,  and,  in  truth,  all  his  person  would  have 
been  decidedly  improved  by  a  portion  of  the  scrubbing  so 
liberally  bestowed  upon  the  furniture  ;  but,  as  he  was  mani- 
festly a  very  unapproachable  personage,  nobody  had  been 
found  bold  enough  to  touch  him.  The  back  room  on  the 
left  was  exclusively  appropriated  to  the  master  of  this 
establishment,  and  exhibited  the  same  peculiar  absence  of 
all  enticing  provocatives  to  comfort  and  luxury  ;  its  aspect 
presenting  a  very  decided  impression  that  a  most  stitT  and 
stark  individual  was  domiciliated  therein,  and  this  view 
of  the  case  might  ever  remain  unshaken,  for  no  one  could 
be  found  more  perfectly  unbending  than  was  the  possessor 
of  this  ungracious  apartment.     Most    persons  luxuriate    in 


OF    BOSTOxN.  13 

the  luxuries  of  the  land  ;  Mr.   Philip  Egerton  revelled  in 
its  nakedness. 

Opposite  to  tills  repulsive  sanctum  was  a  delightful  old- 
fashioned  kitchen,  abounding  in  dark-corner  cupboards  and 
crannies.  Nobody  had  ever  been  able  to  make  this  spot 
uncomfortable  or  gloomy,  for  its  occupants,  two  ancient 
servants,  would  have  defied  the  touch  of  any  fingers  besides 
their  own  upon  its  saucepans  and  brass  kettles.  An  im- 
mense fireplace,  large  enough  to  niche  one's  self  in,  a 
heavy  wooden  settle  by  its  side  with  a  quantity  of  low  stools 
and  seats  surrounding  it,  created  a  picture  of  warmth  and 
comfort  which  certainly  formed  a  striking  contrast  to  Mr. 
Egerton's  private  room.  Every  brass  kettle  was  a  mirror 
in  which  the  fairest  lady  in  the  land  might  have  satisfacto- 
rily beheld  her  bright  face,  and  as  to  the  warming-pan,  it 
was  positively  resplendent !  A  Dutch  artist  would  have 
devoured  it  with  his  eyes,  and  have  been  made  miserable 
for  months  by  his  utter  incompetency  to  imitate  its  bril- 
liancy. The  tables,  chairs  and  floor  were  exactly  in  the 
condition  when  all  good  housewives  declare  '  they  can  be 
eaten  off.' 

But  however  fascinating  this  kitchen,  it  was  eclipsed  and 
immeasurably  surpassed  by  the  garden  in  the  rear  of  the 
dwelling.  This  garden  contained  no  new-fangled,  scentless 
thinss  miscalled  flowers,  remarkable  only  for  their  size  and 
ugliness,  but  in  their  place  delightful  jessamines,  sweet-brier, 
honeysuckle,  hundred-leaved  roses,  lilacs,  English  violets, 
and  fragrant  boxwood  perfumed  the  air  with  their  balmy 
odors.  Then  lovely  laburnums,  laden  with  graceful  blos- 
soms, waved  in  the  breeze,  grape  vines  covered  innumer- 
able arbors  and  broad  alleys,  and  Virginia  creepers  reached 
to  the  chimney-tops,  while  the  lily  of  the  valley  sheltered 
itself  in  their  roots. 

Then  such  Saint  Germain  pears,  brown  Burys  and  Seck- 
els  as  ripened  in  this  favored  spot !    the  latter  so  hunch- 
2 


14  THE    BARCLAYS 

backed  that  it  is  pleasant  to  remember  them  even  now, 
when  it  is  the  fashion  to  grow  them  so  smooth  and  well 
favored  :  they  may  have  gained  in  beauty,  but  never  a  bit 
in  sweetness. 

This  garden,  with  its  dear  old  trees,  its  pleasant,  shady 
walks,  its  hotbeds  and  gorgeous  flowers,  to  which  were 
added  quantities  of  delicious  vegetables,  was  the  admiration 
of  the  whole  neighborhood,  and  well  might  it  so  be.  In  the 
country  a  garden  is  a  matter  of  course,  an  every-day 
occurrence,  a  thing  to  love,  to  be  sure,  but  in  the  town  to  be 
adored.  Amid  the  noise,  dust,  and  bustle  of  a  city,  it  is 
like  '  breathing  the  gales  of  Araby  the  blest '  to  come  sud- 
denly upon  a  few  flowers ;  they  seem  to  be  quadrupled  in 
value,  their  perfume  concentrated,  their  colors  heightened, 
their  very  existence,  by  force  of  contrast,  a  balm  in  Gilead, 
harmonizing  and  elevating  the  mind,  and  distracting  it  from 
the  worldly  cares  which  surround  it.  As  one  by  one  these 
gardens,  these  beautiful  creations  have  disappeared  before 
an  increasing  population,  how  many  have  deplored  and 
lamented  their  destruction  ;  to  the  poor  they  were  the  only 
glimpses  of  Nature  their  restricted  coiiuition  permitted. 
And  their  fruit,  even  now  where  some  old  plum  tree 
shelters  itself  in  a  spot  so  secluded  that  no  temptation  can, 
by  any  chance,  exist  whereby  an  axe  may  reach  it,  the 
flavor  is  pronounced  to  be  incomparable.  Would  tlie  po- 
mologists  had  spared  the  ever  regretted  Seckels,  and  al- 
lowed them  to  grow  deformed  after  their  own  most  ugly  and 
approved  fashion.  .Mr.  Philip  Egcrton,  the  enviable  pro- 
prietor of  this  old  and  favored  Eden,  which,  like  '  the  last 
rose  of  summer  was  left  blooming  alone,'  was  a  gentleman, 
understood  by  the  whole  population  of  his  native  city  to  be 
immensely  rich  and  proportionably  avaricious  ;  his  wealth 
was  said  to  be  colossal,  and  he  himself  was  sometimes  com- 
pared to  an  iceberg,  and  sometimes  to  an  avalanche,  as  the 
case  might  be.  Cei'tain  it  is,  he  was  uncommon  frigid,  even 
for  Boston,  in  his  ways,  and  very  haughty  in  his  manners, 


OF    BOSTON.  15 

and,  moreover,  had  very  little  to  say  to  any  one  out  of  his 
own  four  Avails,  and  not  too  much  to  those  who  dwelt 
therein. 

Mr.  Egerton  was  a  tall,  thin  personage,  with  snow-white 
hair,  '  most  disposedly  worn,'  good,  salient  features,  cold 
gray  eyes,  an  immovable  physiognomy,  great  quietude  of 
habits,  and  a  thoroughly  high-bred  air.  He  was  never  in 
the  least  degree  excited,  and  seemed  to  be  completely  de- 
nuded of  a  shade  of  enthusiasm,  or  even  feeling.  This 
gentleman's  dress  was  in  perfect  keeping  with  his  character; 
he  always  wore  a  light  gray  suit,  a  neckcloth  of  dazzling 
whiteness,  polished  shoes,  and  stockings  and  gloves  of  sur- 
passing purity  ;  indeed,  if  there  were  a  particle  of  personal 
vanity  adhering  to  him,  it  might  be  peradventure  touching 
his  hands  and  feet,  which  were  singularly  beautiful. 

Of  the  tie  of  Mr.  Egerton's  neckcloth,  it  was  stated  and 
thoroughly  believed,  that  it  could  not  ever  be  made  by  any 
other  person  than  himself,  such  was  its  extreme  precision. 
To  be  sure  old  Dinah,  the  queen  of  the  chimney-peak  in 
his,  or  her  kitchen,  claimed  a  fair  portion  of  its  perfecti- 
bility, inasmuch  as  she  certainly  bent  all  the  powers  of  her 
mind  to  the  bleaching,  starching  and  ironing  of  the  muslin, 
and  was  eminently  successful  in  the  important  operation. 

A  lady  was  once  told  by  a  gentleman  that  he  considered 
her  education  perfectly  finished  with  one  exception,  and 
that,  after  having  given  profound  attention  to  a  certain  little 
volume  which  he  would  send  her,  it  would  be  thoroughly 
completed ;  the  volume  on  reception  contained  thirty-six 
ways  of  tying  a  cravat.  The  accomplished  author  of  this 
recondite  production,  declared  it  to  have  been  the  result  of 
a  long  life's  experience,  and  it  is  not  improbable  that  Mr. 
Egerton  may  have  profited  by  it  also.  At  any  rate,  the 
rich  man  seemed  to  have  tied  up  his  heart  as  closely  as  his 
neck  —  if  any  he  had  —  it  was  so  firmly  encased  that  no 
one  got  a  peep  at  it.  Mr.  Egerton's  reserve  was  natural, 
and,  moreover,  seemed  to  be  cultivated,  petted  and  encour- 


16  THE    BARCLAYS 

aged,  for,  however  narrowly  he  might  be  watched,  no  trace 
of  human  weakness  ever  became  visible  to  human  ken. 
Life  with  him  was  compressed  into  a  liomoeopathic  space, 
as  it  ever  must  be  where  sympathy  is  absent.  Of  all 
charms  in  human  character  sympathy  works  the  greatest 
miracles.  How  many  do  we  behold  of  inferior  persons, 
qualities  and  minds,  with  this  Aaron's  rod  swallowing  up 
every  thing  !  We  may  bestow  the  meed  of  approbation  and 
admiration  on  brilliant  qualities,  beauty  and  accomplish- 
ments ;  we  behold  with  our  eyes,  but  we  feel  not  with  our 
hearts  when  the  one  crowning  charm  is  lacking,  '  powerful 
at  greatest  distance.' 

Mr.  Egerton  walked  in  his  own  circumscribed  world  alone, 
as  he  well  deserved  to  do ;  he  had  concentrated  all  his  inte- 
rests in  himself;  nothing  cajoled  him,  nothing  provoked  him 
out  of  himself;  he  had  polished  himself  to  a  Parian  marble 
surface,  and  all  was  conventionalism,  primness  and  stiffness, 
and  he  certainly  had  completed  a  very  unlovable  character. 

If  Mr.  Egerton  looked  beyond  this  world  for  something 
unfound  here,  none  knew  ;  all  beheld  the  terrestrial,  none 
saw  the  celestial.  Some  tale  there  was  of  disappointed  aflec- 
tion,  as  there  generally  is  touching  cross-grained  old  bachel- 
ors, which  it  is  rather  advisable  not  to  believe  at  all.  There 
exists  no  reason  why  all  the  faults  of  every  man,  who 
chooses,  from  causes  best  known  to  himself,  to  remain  sin- 
gle, should  be  laid  at  the  door  of  poor  forlorn  woman  ;  she 
has  sufficient,  in  all  conscience,  to  bear  in  her  earthly  career 
without  this  unseemly  addition.  But  thus  it  is,  and  men 
always  excuse  their  own  vagaries  by  turning  them  over  to 
the  other  sex.  If  men  died  of  love  in  glorious  Shakspcare's 
time,  and  were  delivered  over  to  disgustingly  creeping  things, 
they  have  long,  long  ceased  to  commit  such  follies,  and 
abandoned  the  venture  as  unprofitable  in  our  commercial 
country.  So,  whenever  tliis  part  of  Mr.  Egerton's  private 
history  was  mentioned  in  polite  circles,  it  was  positively 
vetoed  by  the  fair  sex,  who,  one  and  all,  protested  that,  hav- 


OF    BOSTON.  17 

ing  never  owned  a  heart,  he  could  never  consequently  be 
said  to  have  lost  one.  In  fact,  it  must  be  acknowledged,  that, 
when  he  became  the  topic  of  conversation,  he  was  not  very 
gently  handled,  he  being  ever  declared  miserly,  cold  and 
stifT,  and  his  manners,  though  severely  polite,  were  pro- 
nounced freezing  and  altogether  intolerable.  When,  upon 
festal  occasions,  he  was  recommended  by  some  jesting  Ben- 
edict as  an  excellent '  would-be  '  husband  for  a  young  bloom- 
ing bit  of  mischief,  the  proposition  was  scouted  and  flouted 
as  wholly  untenable,  and  Mr.  Egerton's  love  passage  de- 
clared to  be  a  positive  myth.  Indeed,  one  very  lively  lady 
was  heard  to  exclaim,  that  she  did  not  concur  in  all  the  ill- 
humor  and  crabbedness  that  men  choose  to  assume  being 
ascribed  to  her  sex  ;  they  must,  she  knew  by  dire  experi- 
ence, have  something  or  somebody  on  which  to  throw  their 
ill-natured  mantles,  and  she,  herself,  was  quite  sure  that,  in 
the  event  of  her  decease,  her  own  husband  would  be  obliged 
to  purchase  an  ape  —  but  then  she  was  an  Einglish  wo- 
man ! 

Alas !  for  poor  Philip  Egerton  !  But  after  all,  little  cared 
he  for  sympathy  or  criticism  ;  the  state  of  his  mind  disposed 
him  to  think  woman  quite  an  inferior  part  of  the  creation, 
ornamental  if  you  will,  but  nothing  more  ;  therefore  he  would 
hardly  have  troubled  himself,  even  if  he  had  heard,  which 
he  did  not,  all  the  eloquent  strictures  lavished  upon  his  short 
comings. 

Now,  this  gentleman  began  his  career  with  a  profound 
contempt  for  woman  and  her  ways ;  and  it  is  always  noted, 
that  when  such  a  commencement  is  made,  if  a  man  happens 
to  have  a  sister,  she  is  sure  to  be  visited  with  a  compound 
interest  portion,  and  Mr.  Egerton  possessing  this  relative, 
she  shared  the  fate  of  her  fellow-sulTerers.  The  immense 
wealth  of  this  Crccsus,  with  the  exception  of  his  paternal 
estate,  which  has  been  described,  was  supposed  to  be  locked 
up  securely  in  bonds,  mortgages  and  banks,  and  other  un- 
known and  inaccessible  places ;  one  thing  was  positively 
2* 


18  THE    BARCLAYS 

ascertained,  —  no  one  was  relieved  by  it,  no  one  hired  it,  no 
one  borrowed  it,  and  nobody  knew  where  it  was. 

Mr.  Egerton  went  early  in  life  to  China,  was  reputed  to 
have  there  made,  amongst  that  tea-drinking  and  petticoat- 
wearing  race,  an  astounding  fortune,  to  have  brought  it  all 
home  in  beautifully  real  gold  pieces,  and  to  have  securely 
deposited  it  in  places  unknown ;  and  being  uncommonly 
uncommunicative  and  curt,  nobody  had  dared  to  ask  its 
whereabouts. 

Surely  nothing  could  give  a  more  striking  idea  of  the  cold- 
ness and  haughtiness  of  the  wealthy  man,  than  that  this  all- 
important  question  had  never  been  propounded  to  him  by 
somebody  ;  but  so  it  was,  and  it  must  be  reiterated,  nobody 
had  mustered  sufficient  courage  to  do  the  deed. 

We  Americans  ask  a  few  questions  w^here  money  is  the 
topic,  whatever  we  may  or  may  not  do  on  other  occasions, 
and  it  was  surprising  !  Still  Mr.  Egerton  lived  on  from  day 
to  day  in  good  health,  without  ever  disclosing  to  people  who 
were  dying  of  curiosity,  and  publicly  declared  themselves  so 
to  be,  one  iota  respecting  his  monetary  affairs,  and  these 
same  bags  of  real  gold  pieces  which  he  had  brought  home 
with  him.  !Many  persons  privately  believed  they  were  buri- 
ed in  some  deep  and  hidden  pit  in  his  own  lovely  garden  ; 
and  as  private  belief  is  marvellously  apt  to  become  public, 
especially  if  it  appertains  to  our  neighbor's  concerns,  this 
state  of  the  case  came,  in  time,  to  be  received  as  a  positive 
fact,  and  ]\Ir.  Egerton  derived  all  the  advantages  which  ac- 
crued from  such  a  belief. 

In  the  first  place,  the  glass  in  his  hotbeds  was  often  found 
broken  in  the  morning,  the  fences  pulled  down  and  other- 
wise injured,  the  flowers  trampled  upon  and  destroyed,  and 
now  and  then  a  large  hole  was  discovered  to  have  been  dug 
by  the  nocturnal  amateurs  of  gold  pieces,  the  incipient  Cali- 
fornians  !  Secondly,  liis  sleep  and  that  of  his  family  was 
completely  broken  up,  and  what  with  the  arrival  and  the 
non-arrival  of  the  gold-seekers,  for  the  charm  worked  equal- 


OF    BOSTON.  19 

• 

ly  well  both  ways,  his  very  existence  was  made  a  burthen 
to  him. 

Nobody  pitied  Mr.  Egerton ;  but  there  were  other  mem- 
bers of  his  persecuted  household,  for  whom  his  neighbors 
had  more  or  less  sympathy  and  kindly  feelings  ;  so  they 
resolved  themselves  into  midnight  watches  and  all  the  other 
means  resorted  to  upon  such  momentous  occasions,  and  after 
several  months'  assiduous  exertions,  amidst  snow-storms  and 
tempests,  they  succeeded  in  capturing  a  remarkably  small 
boy,  who  was  not  even  white,  but  black,  with  a  divining  rod 
in  his  hand.  This  insignificant  individual  stoutly  protested, 
with  many  groans  and  yells,  that  he  had  been  employed  by 
some  persons,  of  whose  names  he  was  utterly  ignorant,  to 
seek  for  gold  buried  somewhere  in  the  garden ;  and  as 
nothing  was  to  be  elicited  from  him,  but  cries  for  mercy,  he 
was  summarily  dismissed,  with  an  impressive  injunction  to 
2:0  forth  and  sin  no  more. 

o 

Notwithstanding  the  extreme  meagreness  of  this  capture, 
the  womenkind  in  Mr.  Egerton's  household  persisted  in  re- 
maining in  a  nervous  state  of  alarm  ;  he,  however,  heeded 
not  their  fears,  but  decided  to  dismiss  his  neighbors  with 
thanks  for  their  kind  offices.  They  were  amazingly  aston- 
ished that  he  condescended  to  bestow  any  thing,  and  proba- 
bly, from  the  rarity  of  such  an  unwonted  circumstance  as 
the  act  of  giving  implied,  the  performance  was  sadly  defi- 
cient in  graciousness. 

It  is  now  quite  time  that  the  reader  should  be  informed  of 
whom  ^Ir.  Egerton's  alarmed  household  consisted.  That  he 
had  a  sister  has  already  been  mentioned,  as  being  the  amia- 
ble recipient  of  a  very  large  share  of  the  contumely  he  was 
habitually  wont  to  lavish  upon  her  sex.  This  relative  was  a 
widow,  and  this  was  an  additional  source  of  discontent,  as 
the  bachelor  hated  widows  particularly.  She  was  the  mo- 
ther of  Gerald  and  Charles  Sanderson,  who  also  shared  the 
very  problematical  hospitality  of  the  rich  Chinaman's  melan- 


20  THE     BARCLAYS 

choly  home.     But  she,  assuredly,  merits  a  chapter  devoted 
exclusively  to  herself,  and  shall  accordingly  have  it. 

It  must  be  recorded,  that  Mr,  Egerton  substituted  for  his 
neighborly  light  guard  a  superb  Newfoundland  dog,  and 
never  saw  any  more  divining  rods. 


OF    BOSTON.  21 


CHAPTER  III. 


'  lie,  the  young  and  strong,  who  cherished 
Noble  longings  for  the  strife, 
By  the  roadside  fell  and  perished, 
Weary  with  the  march  of  life.' 

Longfellow. 

Emma  Egerton,  early  in  life,  had  married  Gerald  San- 
derson ;  it  was  a  trusting  and  loving  heart  she.  carried  to 
her  husband,  and  nobly  and  fervently  was  its  tenderness 
returned ;  he  had  a  very  small  patrimony,  entirely  insuffi- 
cient for  his  support ;  but  he  was  young,  a  rising  lawyer, 
and  an  American,  who  never  despairs.  Flad  his  life  been 
preserved,  he  would  have  carved  out  a  fortune  for  himself 
and  risen  to  high  trusts,  for  he  had  both  the  character  and 
ability  for  success;  but  this,  for  inscrutable  purposes,  was 
denied,  and  he  sunk  by  the  roadside  at  early  noon.  A 
nobler  and  more  manly  head  was  never  laid  in  the  dust, 
as  all  who  knew  and  loved  him  could  testify.  Mr.  San- 
derson left  to  his  sorrowing  wife  all  he  possessed,  full  well 
knowing  she  would  minister  to  the  comfort  of  his  orphaned 
boys,  Gerald  and  Charles,  more  devotedly  than  any  one 
else.  And  he  reposed  in  his  lowly  tomb,  amid  the  shades 
of  Mount  Auburn,  and  the  flowers  were  planted,  and  the 
cypress  waved  over  the  hallowed  spot  to  which  his  bereaved 
wife  turned,  for  aye,  in  the  midst  of  her  weary  years  of 
tribulation  and  care.  At  first,  Mrs.  Sanderson's  grief  was 
so  overwhelming,  that  serious  fears  were  entertained  for 
her  life  ;  the  thought  of  her  bereaved  children  brought  her 
back  to  the  world  and  its  trials,  of  which  she,  the  solitary 


22  THE    BARCLAYS 

mourner,  was  doomed  to  take  her  fair  portion.  Emma 
Sanderson  had  married  just  after  her  father's  death,  and  a 
short  time  succeeding  her  brother  Phillip's  return  from 
Canton  ;  she  had  been  affianced  to  her  departed  husband 
several  years  before,  but,  as  he  was  too  poor  to  marry,  they 
had  deferred,  from  time  to  time,  the  ceremony.  On  the 
decease  of  her  father  it  was  found  that  he  had  bequeathed 
his  estate,  almost  the  only  property  he  possessed,  to  his  son, 
and  with  the  exception  of  a  few  hundreds,  she  was  literally 
pennyless.  It  was  then  that  Gerald  Sanderson  and  she 
decided  to  unite  their  destinies  without  any  more  delay,  and 
to  trust  to  Providence  for  success.  It  was  granted,  for  a 
space,  sufficiently  for  the  young  widow  to  possess  an  oasis 
in  the  desert  of  her  existence  to  which  she  could  fondly 
turn  in  after  years. 

The  intimacy,  if  such  it  could  be  called,  which  had  existed 
between  the  high-sprited,  warm-hearted  and  generous  Gerald 
Sanderson,  and  the  cold-blooded,  proud  and  haughty  Philip 
Egerton,  was  not  vcn>-  great,  or  impressive  ;  it  was  courteous 
and  quiet.  When  Gerald  died,  Philip  left  his  sister  to  her- 
self; perhaps  this  was  all  for  the  best.  Some  natures 
demand  constant  intercourse  in  their  aftliction  ;  others,  com- 
plete retirement  to  fight  the  good  fight  and  to  quell  rebellious 
spirits.  In  all  cases  it  is  but  fitting  that  the  sufierers  decide 
the  question  ;  —  there  should  be  no  interference  whatever. 
This,  of  course,  applies  to  the  first  stages  of  great  grief ;  — 
there  always  comes  a  time  for  friends  and  sympathy  ;  — the 
mind  and  heart,  in  most  instances,  being  best  brought  to 
entire  submission  to  the  Divine  will  in  solitude  and  prayer. 
This  state,  once  attained,  a  healthy  reaction  ensues,  and  a 
degree  of  outward  peace,  at  least,  is  restored. 

At  the  expiration  of  two  months  Philip  Egerton  saw 
his  sister;  she  was  perfectly  composed,  and,  after  the  first 
ebullition  of  griefs  consequent  upon  their  meeting,  she  was 
compelled  to  be  calm  also. 

'  I  come,  Emma,'  he  said,  '  to  offer  you  and  your  boys 


OF     BOSTON.  23 

a  shelter  beneath  my  own  roof-tree  ;  I  can  and  shall  do 
nothing  more.  I  am  thus  concise  and  explicit,  as  I  know 
no  greater  misfortune  can  befall  these  children  than  that 
of  being  brought  up  in  the  expectation  of  great  wealth, 
I  shall  consequently  hold  forth  no  such  inducement  for  you 
to  cross  my  threshold.  I  say  exactly  what  I  mean  ;  being 
an  honorable  and,  as  you  full  well  know,  an  upright  man, 
I  propose  to  endow  your  sons  with  a  verj-  small  sum  of 
money  at  my  decease,  and  had  always  intended  to  do 
this  before  their  father's  death,  and  his  departure  makes 
no  change  whatever  in  my  views  and  intentions.  i\Iy  house 
is  very  large  and  commodious ;  there  is  ample  verge  and 
space  for  noisy  boys,  so  you  can  have  no  fears  on  my 
account ;  they  will  not  annoy  me,  and  when  they  do,  there 
is  always  the  garden.  I  freely  invite  you  to  come  to  me, 
and  hope  you  will  decide  to  accept  my  proposition.  You 
are  asked  to  enter  your  father's  house ;  you  have  a  very 
small  income  which  will  clothe  yourself  and  children  ;  for 
their  education,  they  must  be  indebted  to  their  native  city, 
which  nobly  provides  for  its  sons;  they  must  work.  This 
is  the  age  of  action  ;  all  work,  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor, 
in  America  ;  your  children  will  be  both  happier  and  better. 
I  am,  myself,  a  solitary  man,  with  unalterably  fixed  habits  ; 
with  these  habits  you  must  attempt  no  interference  what- 
ever ;  you  will  be  a  guest  in  my  dwelling,  a  welcome  one, 
but  I  shall  not  permit  a  single  order  to  emanate  from  any 
person  but  myself.  In  my  domains  I  am  the  monarch  of  all 
I  survey  ;  and,  as  I  care  for  nothing  out  of  them,  I  am  all 
the  more  jealous  of  my  authority  being  therein  usurped.  I 
detest  the  people  here,  and  will  have  no  intercourse  with 
them,  but  wish  you  to  see  all  your  friends,  as  freely  in  my 
house  as  you  have  done  in  your  own.  You  can  have  suites 
of  rooms  in  the  old  place,  and,  as  the  furniture  may  not 
accord  with  your  newly  fashioned  ideas  of  elegance,  bring 
your  own  and  make  your  part  of  the  establishment  as  home- 
like as  vou  can.' 


24  THE    BARCLAYS 

This  was  an  immensely  long  speech  for  Philip  Egerton, 
and  nothing  but  the  exigencies  of  the  case  would  have 
elicited  it ;  his  style  of  conversation  consisting  in  short, 
sharp  questionings,  and  equally  curt  answers.  Emma  San- 
derson well  knew  her  brother  was  perfectly  sincere  in  his 
'  proffers  of  service'  to  her  ;  she  accordingly  thanked  him, 
and  told  him  she  would  return  a  decided  answer  in  a  week. 
Then  Mr.  Egerton,  having  saluted  her  by  just  placing  the 
tips  of  his  stiniy  jointed  fingers  on  the  end  of  hers,  departed, 
having  contrived  to  do  a  rather  kind  act  in  the  most  ungra- 
cious and  disagreeable  manner;  but  it  was  a  way  he  had, 
and  a  very  unpleasant  one,  indeed  ! 

Poor  Emma!  she  sat  shedding  floods  of  tears  and  utter- 
ing deep  drawn  sighs,  when  her  brother  left,  as  the  memory 
of  happy  days  returned,  alas  !  forever  past!  This  interview 
with  her  sole  relative  had  seemed  to  renew  the  first  agony 
of  her  despair,  and  she  had  felt  herself  enveloped  in  a 
funeral  mantle,  in  veriest  truth,  as  she  gazed  upon  the  clear, 
cold,  gray  eyes  of  Philip  Egerton  fixed  upon  her,  while 
he  explained  to  her,  in  the  most  dictatorial  and  sententious 
manner,  his  present  and  future  plans  and  intentions.  There 
arose  in  the  mind  of  the  sorrowing  and  broken-hearted 
woman  such  a  yearning  for  human  sympathy,  such  a  longing 
to  lie  down  by  the  side  of  her  lost  treasure,  that  slic  fiung 
herself  despairingly  on  her  bed,  and  for  days  laid  prostrate 
and  helpless,  dreading  the  mandate  which  must  call  her 
'  back,  back,  to  earth.' 

Mrs.  Sanderson  was  not  a  strong-minded  woman,  which 
seems  to  be  frequently  a  synonyme  for  a  thoroughly  unlov- 
able person,  but  a  sweetly  affectionate  and  trusting  creature, 
pretty,  fragile,  and  refined.  She  had  a  great  taste  for  reading, 
music,  and  drawing,  and  was  an  accomplished  needle- 
woman :  this  latter  attainment  was  destined  to  be  an 
immense  resource  for  her.  She  had  been  educated  in  great 
retirement,  and  had  made  very  few  acquaintances  ;  and 
those   she   had   almost   entirely   neglected   during   her  long 


OF    BOSTON*  25 

engagement  to  her  husband,  for  hers  had  been  a  childish 
love  passage,  in  common  with  a  vast  many  others  in  her 
country,  and,  fortunately,  more  felicitous  than  they  are  apt 
to  be.  In  nine  cases  out  of  ten  no  school-girl  marries  the 
boy  to  whom  she  has  pledged  her  nursery  faith,  neither  is 
it  desirable  that  she  should.  Our  views  of  life,  habits, 
manners  and  tastes,  all  imperceptibly  change  as  years  pass, 
in  their  winged  flight,  and  we  do  not  perceive  our  own 
signal  and  certain  metamorphosis  until  some  slight  and 
apparently  unimportant  circumstance  occurs,  and  we  awake 
from  our  dream  and  a  change  has  come  over  the  spirit  of  it. 
There  is  no  reflecting  person  who  cannot  remember  such  an 
epoch  in  human  feeling ;  we  marvel  how  we  could  have 
ever  enjoyed  this  thing,  or  liked  that,  and  speculate  upon, 
what  we  are  pleased  to  call,  the  incongruities  of  our  nature. 

Emma  arose  from  this  crisis  of  despair,  and  firmly  resolv- 
ed that  it  should  be  her  last  enduring  weakness,  so  she  ac- 
cepted her  cold-hearted  brother's  invitation,  for  what  could 
she  do  otherwise  ?  The  small  modicum  left  by  her  lament- 
ed husband  would,  as  Philip  had  stated,  clothe  herself  and 
children ;  but  how  were  they  to  be  fed,  and  where,  if  not  in 
his  house  ?  Its  having  been  he  •  father's,  immensely  recon- 
ciled her  to  this  alternative,  lor  had  her  father  died  without 
a  will,  one  half  of  that  old  homestead  would  have  been  law- 
fully hers,  and  this  she  could  not  be  supposed  to  forget,  and 
the  fact  recurred  to  her  mind  with  additional  force  in  the 
painful  certitude  that  she  must  abandon  her  own  dwelling. 
It  was  also  an  advantageous  circumstance,  that  she  would 
not  feel  the  weight  of  her  obligation  to  her  miserly  brother 
so  greatly  as  she  might  have  done,  had  the  dwelling,  to 
which  she  was  on  the  point  of  repairing,  been  purchased 
with  Philip's  gold  pieces  ;  so  upon  this  subject  her  thoughts 
also  reposed  quietly. 

Then  the  house  and  rooms  were  very  large,  and  the  gar- 
den was  delightful;  both  for  her  children  and  herself;  and 
she  was  sure  of  having  the  entire  possession  of  the  latter,  as, 
3 


26  THE    BARCLAYS 

strange  to  confess,  Mr.  Egerton  rarely  entered  it,  except  to 
see  the  fruit  gathered,  confiding  the  vegetables  to  the  tried 
honesty  of  his  servants ;  and  the  flowers  he  totally  disregard- 
ed, caring  nothing  for  them.  As  to  walking  in  a  garden! 
he  never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing  ;  no  gardens  for  him.  He 
arose  by  daybreak — it  is  generally  observed  that  the  earli- 
est risers  are  persons  who  have  absolutely  nothing  to  do  — 
breakfasted  leisurely,  gave  his  orders  to  the  servants  for  the 
day,  and  walked,  with  his  head  elevated  to  a  great  height  in 
the  air,  to  an  insurance  office,  or  the  Atheneeum.  Securing 
a  dozen  newspapers,  secreting  some  of  them  under  the 
cushion  of  his  chair,  and  some  in  his  pockets,  and  with  one 
under  each  arm,  he  began  by  occupying  himself  with  the 
'  respectable  Daily  Advertiser.'  Sales,  notices,  exhibitions, 
theatres,  deaths  and  marriages  were  all  food  for  this  insatia- 
ble reader.  It  was  in  vain  that  all  Mr.  Egerton's  contem- 
poraries, even  the  most  remarkably  experienced  in  such 
operations,  essayed  to  win  this  newspaperial  race,  and, 
indeed,  never  renounced  the  hope  of  triumphing  ;  in  fact,  it 
was  the  first  thing  they  pondered  upon  before  they  arose  in 
the  morning,  or  had  even  said  their  prayers  ;  but  that  gen- 
tleman always  cunningly  contrived  to  distance  them,  and 
won  the  cup,  or  in  other  words,  journal. 

It  must  be  confessed  he  was  a  very  uncommon  quiet  vic- 
tor, neither  singing  nor  shouting  his  pagans,  but  read  on 
forever  and  aye,  until  the  above-mentioned  worthies  lost  all 
patience  ;  but,  as  they  diurnally  performed  this  same  feat, 
nobody  seemed  much  concerned  at  the  consequences  of  '  the 
miser's'  tenacity.  In  fact,  the  vanquished  had  solaced  them- 
selves by  applying  this  gratifying  and  flattering  title  to  Mr. 
Egerton,  and  it  seemed  to  be  their  only  means  of  avenging 
their  wrongs.  So  thoroughly  selfish  was  the  possessor  of 
the  title,  that  he  carried  his  egotism  even  into  the  newspa- 
pers, which  certainly  did  not  belong  to  him,  and  to  which  he 
had  no  more  prior  claims  than  those  whom  he  supplanted. 
This  one  thing  alone  would  have  created  feuds  manv  a  time 


OF    BOSTON.  27 

and  oft,  but  it  takes  two  persons  to  conduct  a  quarrel  credit- 
ably, and  Mr.  Egerton  so  thoroughly  despised  his  enemies, 
that  he  never  descended  from  his  lofty  and  inaccessible  alti- 
tudes to  an  altercation,  and  this  added  fuel  to  the  flames,  for 
nothing  is  more  offensive  to  angry  men  than  such  freezing 
neglect.     So  Mr.  Egerton  read  on. 

At  two  o'clock  precisely,  the  gentleman  wended  his  wind- 
ing way  to  his  own  dwelling,  and  in  half  an  hour  might  be 
seen  seated,  in  great  state,  in  a  high-backed  chair,  at  the 
head  of  his  own  board,  discussing  his  repast  in  a  most  leis- 
urely and  moderate  manner.  Indeed,  moderation  was  the 
order  of  the  refection,  inasmuch  as  it  was  never  over-abun- 
dant, except  in  the  vegetable  season,  when  it  abounded  in 
esculent  delicacies.  Mr.  Egerton  never  sold  the  delicious 
productions  of  his  garden,  though  his  maligners,  particu- 
larly the  losers  in  the  '  Daily '  race,  affirmed  solemnly  upon 
all  possible  and  impossible  occasions,  that  he  did.  A  gentle 
nap  followed  the  repast,  which  was  always  enjoyed  in  an 
upright  chair  in  what  Mr.  Egerton  was  pleased  to  denomi- 
nate his  library,  though  how  a  room  came  to  bear  the  blush- 
ing honors  of  such  a  high-sounding  title,  in  which  book  there 
was  none,  remained  to  be  explained.  Mr.  Egerton  working 
up  all  his  literature  at  the  public  expense,  bought  no  books, 
hired  no  books,  and  subscribed  to  no  newspapers. 

At  four  in  the  winter,  and  five  in  summer,  he  might  be 
regularly  seen  in  Washington  street,  solemnly  bent  upon  '  a 
constitutional  walk'  to  the  Roxbury  boundary  line,  an  undis- 
covered bourne  from  which  travellers  do  return.  This  he 
refjarded  somethino;  in  the  light  of  a  pilgrimage  to  Hvgeia, 
without  the  accompanying  peas  in  the  shoes,  and  quite 
equivalent  to  the  possession  of  any  cardinal  virtue  extant. 
In  fact,  he  absolutely  believed  it  to  be  his  duty  to  impress 
upon  the  mind  of  the  only  woman  to  whom  he  condescended 
to  impart  his  sentiments  on  small  matters,  to  wit,  his  own 
sister,  that  she  could  not  be  regarded  as  strictly  correct  in 
his  eyes,  if  she  did  not  go  and  do  likewise.     Mrs.  Sanderson 


28 


THE    BARCLAYS 


concluded  to  pay  this  terrible  penalty,  and  chose  another 
passage-way  to  heaven  when  she  went  forth,  which  was, 
however,  rarely,  except  on  Sundays. 

This  grave  excursion  completed,  (Mr.  Egerton's  vespers,) 
he  returned  home,  drank  one  small  cup  of  verj'  weak  tea, 
ate  one  morsel  of  dry  bread  without  butter,  by  way  of  a  sal- 
utary example,  and  immediately  retired  into  his  '  library,' 
with  one  candle,  which,  the  maligners  positively  asserted,  he 
always  extinguished  the  moment  he  shut  the  door  of  his 
sanctum,  and  was  seen  no  more.  At  nine  of  the  old  clock, 
which  stood  on  the  first  broad  landing  of  the  stairs  —  and  a 
treasure  of  antiquity  it  was  —  he  ascended,  with  measured 
steps  and  slow,  to  his  dormitory,  making  his  transit  as  im- 
])ressive  and  sonorous  as  he  could,  in  order  that  his  house- 
hold might  know  he  had  retired. 

No  pleasant  fireside  chat  for  the  bachelor  ! 

Soon  came  the  lamented  flitting  for  Mrs.  Sanderson,  too 
soon  by  far  ;  such  a  distressing  parting  from  even  the  bare 
walls,  which  had  witnessed  her  departed  happiness  !  She 
left  the  small,  delightful  dwelling  where  her  every  wish  had 
been  gratified,  nay,  even  anticipated,  to  enter  a  house  to 
wiiich  Catherine  of  Russia's  ice  palace  was  a  comfortable 
residence  —  for  that  had  li<rhts  and  fires  —  to  live  with  an 
uusym[)athizing,  avaricious  "nd  egotistical  man,  and  that 
man  her  own  brother  !  thereby  duplicating  her  misfortune. 
Mrs.  Sanderson,  moreover,  believed  that  her  relative  would 
j)rove  to  be  no  titling  example  for  her  children,  for  how  was 
she  to  hold  forth  to  them  the  merits  of  the  very  qualities  he 
lacked  ?  How  was  she  to  bid  them  avoid  the  very  sins  their 
own  uncle,  every  day,  committed  before  their  eyes  ?  Oh  ! 
there  were  trying  moments,  when  she  almost  felt  she  could 
not  do  this  ;  she  could  not  enter  her  late  father's  house  —  the 
sacrifice  was  too  great. 

And  then  slie  remembered  there  was  another  Father's 
house,  even  a  heavenly  one,  of  which  the  promise  was 
given,  and  that  He  would  protect  her  darlings ;  and  she  put 


OF     BOSTON.  29 

her  trust  in  Him.  It  was  necessary  to  begin  her  arrange- 
ments  at  the  old  place  before  the  winter  should  set  in  ;  and 
many  were  the  alterations  to  be  made.  All  clashing  with 
Mr.  Egerton's  inner  life  was  to  be  avoided;  the  children 
must  be  far  removed  from  him,  as  he  could  not  be  supposed 
to  be  very  tolerant  of  noisy  young  things,  with  drums,  fifes, 
and  penny  whistles.  But  here  her  brother's  habits,  so  very 
methodically  exact,  were  decidedly  in  her  favor,  as  she 
would  only  be  obliged  to  keep  the  little  boys  quiet  when  he 
was  at  home  ;  when  absent,  they  might  run  wild  about  the 
upper  part  of  the  house,  in  the  large  chambers  and  garrets. 
The  children  would  hardly  ever  behold  their  uncle,  except- 
ing at  meals,  and  they  must  be  commanded  to  be  orderly 
and  quiet,  which  was  all  for  the  best.  Then  she  inust  en- 
deavor to  give  as  pleasant  a  view  of  Mr.  Egerton's  peculiar 
character  as  she  could,  always  impressing  upon  their  young 
minds  and  hearts  his  great  kindness  in  atTordlng  them  an 
asylum  when  they  had  no  shelter ;  and  then  they  must  re- 
member how  large  and  commodious  was  that  shelter,  and 
how  infinitely  charming  the  dear  old  garden  ! 

So  Mrs.  Sanderson  made  surprising  etForts,  and  had  par- 
tially succeeded  in  composing  herself,  when  the  hour  arrived 
for  her  departure,  and  she  found  herself  once  more  in  her 
father's  house.  Alas  !  groaned  the  bereaved  young  crea- 
ture, if  it  were  indeed  my  heavenly  Father's  house  !  and 
then  she  looked  upon  her  boys,  and  mounted  the  grand  stair- 
case, and  entered  the  sparsely  furnished  and  frigid  looking 
chambers.  Mr.  Egerton  was  out  on  his  constitutional  walk, 
and  would  not  have  omitted  his  '  vespers '  for  all  the  widow- 
ed sisters  in  Christendom. 


30  THE    BARCLAYS 


CHAPTER   IV. 

We  know  not  love  till  those  "we  love  depart. 


L.    K.    L. 


It  was  a  cold,  dreary  and  drizzling  autumnal  evening, 
with  a  pestilent  east  wind  blowing  in  every  direction,  when 
Mrs.  Sanderson  reached  the  old  house.  She  was  met  at  the 
grand  front  entrance  by  Dinah,  Mr.  Egerton's  black  cook, 
and  Peter,  the  house  servant,  butler,  valet  and  gardener ; 
they  both  were  over-delighted  to  welcome  her  and  the  boys, 
whose  arrival  they  had  been  anticipating  with  immense 
pleasure. 

'  We've  beti  waitin  and  waitin  hours  for  you,  Miss 
Emma,'  cried  Dinah,  '  and  begun  to  think  you'd  nebber 
come  ;  but  massy  me,  I'm  thankful  you're  all  here  at  last.' 

Whereupon  Dinah  began  to  hug  the  little  boys,  but  they 
would  not  receive  her  enthusiastic  demonstrations  of  afiec- 
tion ;  they  were  both  weary  and  hungry.  Mrs.  Sanderson 
had  been  busily  occupied  all  the  day,  and,  in  fact  for  a 
week,  with  but  one  awkv/ard  servant,  and,  of  course,  all 
their  childish  comforts  had  been  abridged,  and  the  last  day 
was  like  all  such  packing  days,  unendurable.  Mrs.  San- 
derson, having  been  unwilling  to  forward  a  single  package 
before  her  arrival  from  the  fear  of  annoying  Philip,  such 
an  awful  personage  was  he,  had  arranged  that  all  her  ctFects 
should  be  sent  the  next  morning  in  carts  and  wagons,  and 
had  brought  but  the  night  gear  of  herself  and  children. 
The  French  have  a  proverb  ;,iat  three  removals  are  equal  to 
a  fire ;  Mrs.  Sanderson  fanc.cd  her  one  a  general  confla- 
gration, so  many  were  the  unlucky   mischances  attending 


OF    BOSTON.  31 

it.  And  then  she  had  so  poignantly  missed  the  comfortin<j' 
and  protecting  arm  of  him  who  was  now  powerless!  and, 
with  a  weight  of  grief  ahnost  too  heavy  to  live  and  bear, 
she  traversed  the  large  cold  chambers  of  her  once  beloved 
home. 

In  her  lamented  father's  time  tliere  had  been,  in  the  front 
chamber,  a  handsome  grate ;  it  was  still  there,  and  slie 
asked  Peter  to  bring  her  some  coal,  the  evening  promising 
to  be  particularly  damp  and  gloomy.  '  None  in  the  house, 
I\Iiss  Emma,'  was  the  answer.  '  Could  she  not  have  some 
wood  ?  '  she  inquired.  '  None  cut  short  enuf,  Miss  Emma.' 
The  truth  was,  that  both  of  these  kind-hearted  servants 
would  have  rejoiced  to  make  a  bonfire  for  '  Miss  Emma,' 
as  they  always  called  their  young  mistress,  but  were  fearful 
their  master  would  be  angry,  especially  as  he  had  only 
ordered  the  beds  to  be  arranged  for  her.  I\Irs.  Sanderson, 
perceiving  at  once  how  matters  stood,  proposed  taking  her 
children  down  into  the  kitchen ;  this  proved  exactly  the 
thing  for  all  parties.  The  boys  were  delighted  with  the 
old  fireplace,  the  high  settle,  and  the  low  seats,  and  were 
shortly  niched  in  warm  corners,  with  mugs  of  milk  and 
portions  of  bread,  and  there  they  were  undressed  and  soon 
fell  asleep,  and  were  carried  up  stairs  and  comfortably  laid 
in  their  beds.  Their  mother,  however,  felt  she  could  not 
pass  the  evening  in  the  kitchen,  and  she  told  Dinah  she 
would  repair  to  her  chamber,  and  if  Mr.  Egerton  asked  for 
her  company  she  would  go  to  him,  but  that  she  could  eat 
nothing,  her  appetite  having  deserted  her.  Mr.  Egerton 
returned  home.  She  heard  him  enter  the  hall ;  she  waited  a 
couple  of  hours  for  a  summons  to  join  him,  sitting  in  the 
most  disconsolate  and  melancholy  mood  on  the  side  of  her 
bed.  He  neither  came  nor  sent  any  message,  so  the 
bereaved  young  creature,  having  commended  herself  and 
orphans  to  the  Father  of  the  fatherless,  crept  into  her  bed 
and  fairly  cried  herself  to  sleep  like  a  little  child.  And  this 
was  Mrs,  Sanderson's  first  night  in  her  brother's  house ! 


32  THE    BARCLAYS 

The  next  morning  Mrs,  Sanderson  was  awakened  by  the 
two  boys  running  into  her  chamber  in  high  glee.  The  sun 
was  shining  brightly  ;  Peter  had  procured  some  coal,  and 
desired  his  mistress,  through  Dinah,  to  order  her  to  make  a 
fire  ;  this  was  soon  executed,  and  at  least  they  were 
warmed.  Their  respective  toilettes  finished,  the  young 
things  having  been  scrubbed  and  polished  most  accurately 
by  their  careful  mother,  they  all  descended  to  breakfast  in 
the  dining-room.  Mr.  Egerton  received  his  sister  solemnly ; 
inquired  the  state  of  her  health,  and  noticed  very  slightly 
her  children,  who  certainly  looked  sufficiently  askance  at 
him,  but  had  been  instructed  by  their  mother  not  to  make 
the  least  noise ;  so  things  proceeded  smoothly.  The  boys 
ate  their  breakfast  very  deliberately,  every  now  and  then 
casting  sidelong  glances  apprehensively  at  the  tall,  thin 
gentleman,  who  looked  as  if  he  had  never  bent  himself  in 
his  life.  There  is  a  spirit  of  free-masonry  about  the  Tittle 
people ;  they  know  instantly  who  likes  them  and  who  does 
not ;  so  the  boys  at  once  perceived  intuitively  that  this  grim, 
severe  looking  personage  was  no  decided  admirer  of  juve- 
nilities, and  governed  themselves  accordingly. 

The  meal  discussed,  Mrs.  Sanderson  retreated  into  her 
own  fastnesses,  and  then  soon  appeared  her  own  goods  and 
chattels,  she  having  ordered  them  to  be  expedited  when  she 
was  sure  of  her  brother's  absence  from  home.  The  boys 
were  sent  into  the  garden,  and  once  there,  required  no  pro- 
tector, four  high  walls  keeping  them  securely  within  bounds. 
They  were  delighted  with  this  arrangement,  and,  as  their 
mother  snatched  a  moment  now  and  then  from  her  labors  to 
look  tenderly  upon  her  darlings,  she  felt  most  grateful  to 
her  brother  for  the  precious  boon  of  that  dear  old  garden. 

And  it  was,  indeed,  a  great  resource,  for  she  would 
otherwise  have  been  obliged  to  take  her  children  out  in 
the  streets  for  air  and  exercise,  and,  as  she  absolutely 
loathed  the  idea  of  seeing  or  being  seen,  it  was  cheering 
to   know   that   she   should    not  be    obli2;ed   to  exhibit    her 


OF    BOSTON.  33 

wretchedness  abroad ;  thus  she  had  a  charming  retreat  in 
summer  for  herself  and  children,  and  even  a  pleasant  one 
in  winter.  As  Philip  had  not  permitted  her  to  sell  her 
furniture,  she  was  almost  embarrassed  with  the  multitude 
of  her  possessions ;  but  they  were  at  last  all  safely  landed 
in  the  second  story  of  her  new  old  home  without  more 
breakage  than  usually  accompanies  such  a  state  of  tran- 
sition. 

At  dinner  Mr.  Egerton  was  politely  attentive,  asked  no 
questions,  and  appeared  to  take  no  interest  whatever  in  her 
arrangements ;  the  repast  finished,  he  walked  into  his  li- 
brary, and  Mrs.  Sanderson  repaired  to  her  chamber.  They 
had  tea  quite  early,  after  which  her  brother  bade  her  good 
night  and  retired.  She  heard  him  ascend  the  staircase  at 
nine  of  the  clock  precisely,  and  thus  was  concluded  her  first 
day  in  her  brother's  house. 

And  the  days  sped  on  in  the  same  monotonous  routine,  as 
days  will  ever,  happy  or  unhappy  as  the  case  may  be. 
Mrs.  Sanderson  made  a  charmingly  comfortable  parlor  of 
,  the  jront  chamber,  arranged  her  piano,  books,  drawing  and 
working  materials  in  a  tasteful  manner;  the  back  one  was 
also  furnished  with  her  own  belongings;  the  two  in  the  third 
story  were  appropriated  to  the  boys  for  sleeping  and  playing, 
and  all  looked  remarkably  pretty.  Mrs.  Sanderson  invited 
her  brother  to  examine  her  apartments,  but  he  courteously 
declined,  assuring  her  that  he  presumed  they  were  very 
pleasantly  arranged  from  licr  well  known  taste,  and  never 
was  seen  to  enter  them.  When  all  was  completed  and 
nothing  more  by  any  chance  remained  to  be  done,  then 
came  a  reaction,  and  it  seemed  to  the  solitary  mourner  as 
if  the  evenings  would  never  come  to  an  end.  She  had  ever 
been  in  the  habit  of  retiring  at  midnight,  as  her  departed 
husband,  a  little  fearful  of  his  matutinal  defections,  was 
laughingly  vront  to  say  that  he  finished  his  day's  work  and 
began  another  before  he  went  to  bed.'  Accordingly,  Mrs. 
Sanderson  could   not  close  her  eves  before  her  accustomed 


34  THE    BARCLAYS 

hour.  And  oh  !  how  wearisome  were  those  long,  long  even- 
ings !  there  seemed  literally  to  be  no  end  to  them.  She 
could  not,  at  that  period,  take  any  interest  in  books,  her 
Bible  being  the  only  one  in  which  she  ever  looked  ;  she 
dared  not  touch  her  piano  lest  she  might  disturb  tire  repose  of 
her  brother,  and  was  generally  disinclined  for  all  occupations. 
So  she  passed  her  time  in  ruminating  on  her  irreparable 
loss.  The  days  ])assed  more  swiftly  as  she  was  engaged  in 
watching  and  teaching  her  children ;  but  O  the  dismal 
evenings  ! 

Gerald,  the  oldest  boy,  was  a  delicate,  pale  child,  who, 
v/ithout  being  decidedly  sickly,  required  great  care  and 
attention,  physically  and  morally,  for  he  was  at  that  early 
age  of  seven,  a  period  he  had  just  then  reached,  a  little 
bookworm,  preferring  any  thing  printed  to  all  the  toys  and 
playthings  in  the  v/orld.  His  mother  had  made  every  effort 
to  win  him  from  his  books  unavailingly,  and  she  was,  at 
last,  obliged  to  take  away  his  treasures  daily,  lock  them  up, 
and  insist  that  he  should  pass  the  greater  part  of  his  time 
in  the  open  air.  Gerald  was  gentle  and  alfectionate  to  his 
mother,  but  promised  to  be  an  absorbed  dreamer.  Cliarley, 
an  entire  contrast  to  his  brother  and  two  years  younger, 
was  blessed  with  a  robust  constitution  and  excellent  health, 
superabounding  spirits,  and  adored  his  mother  v.'ith  an 
intensity  of  feeling  that  seemed  far  beyond  his  years  ;  lie 
was  generous  and  high-spirited,  and  possessed  the  most 
perfect  temper  and  the  sunniest  smile  that  ever  lighted  up 
the  human  face.  Both  these  children  were  sufficiently 
good-looking  and  promised  to  improve  ;  it  is  not  the  most 
beautiful  boys  that  make  the  fmest  men,  and  there  is  often 
a  striking  change,  even  in  the  eyes  of  the  fondest  mother, 
from  the  loveliest  childhood  to  very  common  looking  man- 
hood. 

The  long  winter  months  passed  slowly  on  ;  jMr.  Egcrtou 
altered  not,  never  becoming,  more  or  less,  communicative  ; 
he   was  always  coldly  polite  and  v.'cll  bred  ;  sarcastic  ho 


OF     BOSTON.  35 

must  ever  be,  but,  as  he  had  no  intercourse  with  any  one 
beyond  the  most  formal  interchange  of  common  civilities, 
he  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  gossip  of  the  town.  He  had 
always  regarded  his  sister  as  a  very  weak-minded  woman, 
to  whom  he  should  never  dream  of  speaking  on  any  subject 
in  which  he  was  seriously  interested;  she  had  never  trav- 
elled, had  never  been  in  England,  and  consequently  knew 
nothing.  The  white  clifls  of  Albion  were,  to  Mr.  Egerton, 
the  Ultima  Thule  of  creation  ;  no  genuine  John  Bull,  of  the 
purest  water,  could  have  worshipped  more  faithfully  his 
native  land;  every  thing  there  was  right,  everything  here 
wrong ;  and  this  was  a  truthful  summing  up  of  his  prejudices. 
Emma  knew  nothing  of  passing  events,  —  how  could  she  ? 
She  lived  within  her  own  four  walls  and  had  always  done  so, 
and,  moreover,  had  never  been  in  much  society,  even  in  her 
own  land. 

The  topics  of  conversation,  introduced  at  the  meal-time 
liours,  were  consequently  wretchedly  circumscribed ;  Mrs. 
Sanderson's  timidity  and  fear  of  her  brother  increasing  the 
difficulty  of  interchange  of  thoughts  and  opinions.  Mr. 
Egerton  never  condescended  to  give  her  any  information, 
and  France  might  have  had  three  kings  and  six  presidents, 
for  auglit  she  knew  to  the  contrary,  and  ministries  changed 
in  the  land  of  her  brother's  adoration,  and,  in  fact,  tbe  world 
turned  topsy-turvy  without  her  becoming  enlightened  touch- 
ing the  facts. 

At  last,  Mrs.  Sanderson  decided  upon  taking  a  very  im- 
portant step,  and  took  in  a  newspaper  ;  her  brother  regarded 
her  with  slight  astonishment  when  she  first  mentioned  some 
event  which  had  occurred  in  his  beloved  elysium  across 
the  blue  waters,  and  thenceforth  spoke  to  her  occasionally 
of  what  was  passing  in  foi-eign  lands,  seemingly  having 
conceived  a  less  unfavorable  idea  of  her  intellect  from  the 
circumstance  of  her  reading  a  daily  journal.  Indeed,  she 
often  marvelled  that  her  hypercritical  brother  did  not  abandon 
the   land   of  his  birth,  which  he   professed   to  abhor,   and 


86  THE    BARCLAYS 

transport  himself  and  his  pretensions  to  a  more  congenial 
atmosphere  ;  but  this  opinion  she  had  hardly  ventured  to 
mention  in  his  august  presence,  apprehensive  lest  the  idea 
might  occur  to  him  that  she  had  an  idea  of  her  own. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  was  perfectly  aware  that  Mr.  Egerton 
entertained  no  very  exalted  opinion  of  the  minds  of  woman- 
kind in  general,  and  a  particularly  small  one  of  hers  ;  so 
she  never  ventured  upon  any  thing  beyond  commonplaces 
with  him ;  thus  he,  living  with  a  refined  and  accomplished 
woman,  knew  absolutely  nothing  about  her.  Mr.  Egcrton's 
table  equipage  was  very  beautiful  indeed  ;  his  father  had 
been  a  great  admirer  of  old  plate,  and  the  house  overflowed 
with  it;  the  sideboard  being,  every  day,  loaded  with  costly 
and  rare  articles,  emblazoned  with  the  family  arms,  which 
having  been  duly  exhibited  dazzling  with  brilliancy,  were 
carefully  collected  at  night  in  two  huge  baskets  by  old  Peter, 
and  secreted,  in  parts  unknown,  until  morning  light  brought 
them  again  into  diurnal  display.  The  napciy  of  Mr. 
Egcrton's  board  was  also  exquisite  from  its  fineness  and  its 
getting  up  ;  to  this  Dinah  contributed  her  important  share 
of  skill.  The  meals  were  admirably  prepared,  and  however 
common  the  materials,  the  flavoring  was  excellent  and  the 
cleanliness  quite  perfect ;  to  be  sure  they  were  limited  to 
the  smallest  possible  quantity,  and  it  could  hardly  be  asserted 
that  there  was  a  sufiiciency,  but  they  were  served  with 
extreme  care  and  vast  pretension. 

Of  Dinah  and  Peter,  the  two  black  servants,  who  have 
already  been  mentioned  as  having  received  their  young 
mistress,  on  her  arrival,  so  enthusiastically,  all  manner  of 
praises  might  be  showered  on  them  ;  they  were  up  betimes 
in  the  morning,  and  busily  occupied  all  day  wnth  their 
master's  concerns ;  in  fact,  they  seemed  ubiquitous,  and 
might  have  been  seen  almost,  like  Sir  Boyle  Roche's  bird, 
in  two  places  at  once;  and,  at  night,  they  had  completed 
the  work  of  double  their  number.  Perfect  treasures,  were 
the  pair,  of  fidelity,  honesty  and  truth. 


OF    BOSTON.  37 

Dinah,  for  many  long  years,  had  flattered  herself  that 
Peter  might  be  induced  to  tender  to  her,  as  a  reward  for  her 
constancy  and  devotion,  his  hand  and  heart.  Somehow  this 
grand  event  never  came  to  pass,  yet  she  despaired  none  the 
less,  and  went  on  hoping  and  trusting,  as  her  sex  are  apt 
to  do. 

Now  Peter  was  a  remarkably  shrewd  and  cunning  old 
fellow,  and  knew,  and  had  known,  and  would  know,  for 
a  long  time,  that  he  was  an  immense  gainer  by  this  simple 
delusion  of  his  sable  companion;  so  he  did  not  absolutely 
bid  her  despair,  but  led  her  on  through  flowery  mazes  from 
year  to  year,  always  insinuating,  without  absolutely  assert- 
ing, that  the  pleasant  goal  might  be  reached  at  last.  And 
she,  the  deceived,  permitted  herself  to  be  deluded,  and 
served  him  and  humored  him  in  all  his  innumerable  caprices, 
and  encouraged  his  whims  until  she  had  fairly  spoiled  him, 
as  far  as  she  herself  was  concerned.  A  slave  to  the  lamp 
of  African  Peter  was  Miss  Dinah,  and  seemed  actually  to 
rejoice  in  her  bondage  and  hug  her  chains.  Peter  might 
rule  with  a  rod  of  iron,  but  so  Mr.  Egerton  did  not.  Dinah 
thought  her  master  the  very  first  gentleman  in  Boston,  for 
she  asked,  '  Was  he  not  doin'  most  noflin  from  mornin'  till 
night  ? '  But,  nevertheless,  in  her  domains,  he  had  no  con- 
trol ;  he  was  a  terrible  personage  in  her  eyes  out  of  the 
kitchen,  but  in  it,  '  nofiin.'  And  the  gentleman,  being 
perfectly  aware  of  the  consideration  in  which  he  was  held, 
and  comprehending  fully  the  admirable  management  and 
economy  practised  in  his  culinary  department,  never  ven- 
tured to  intrude  therein ;  so  all  things  proceeded  most 
smoothly. 

The  winter  wore  sluggishly  on,  and  it  was  in  this  dreary 
season  that  the  gold-seeker's  emissary  had  been  captured 
during  a  thaw,  and  Mr.  Egerton  substituted  for  his  body- 
guard a  superb  Newfoundland  dog,  called  Tiger,  who  proved 
a  source  of  immense  satisfaction  to  the  juveniles  in  his 
establishment. 

4 


38  THE    BARCLAYS 

At  last,  the  much  desired  Spring  began  to  appear,  if 
Spring  it  can  be  called,  which  is  Summer,  for  the  months 
set  down  in  the  calendar,  in  Massachusetts,  as  appertaining 
to  the  coy  goddess,  are  much  worse  to  bear  than  those  be- 
stowed upon  their  frosty  and  snowy  predecessors.  If,  by 
any  process  hitherto  untried  in  the  alembic  of  time,  the 
months  could  be  transposed,  and  I\Iay,  the  poet's  delusion, 
be  introduced  into  July,  how  pleasantly  might  we  concur  in 
all  the  glowing  imagery  and  fascinating  pictures  presented 
by  the  verse  writers.  None  can  surely  forget  the  days  when, 
the  heart  and  head  filled  to  repletion,  with  flowery  and 
showery  visions,  all  manner  of  projects  were  formed  of 
sallying  forth  '  a  Maying.'  The  excursion  finished,  having 
risen  at  four  of  the  clock,  the  perpetrators  of  this  bold  deed 
of  high  daring,  returned  home  in  a  state  pitiful  to  behold, 
with  benumbed  hands  filled  with  bare  willow  sticks,  and 
most  unbewitchingly  blue  noses,  and  popped  into  their  beds, 
and  enjoyed  such  respectable  naps  before  breakfast. 

There  remains  a  small  crumb  of  comfort,  however,  for 
the  New  Englanders,  it  being  almost  as  difficult  to  be  abso- 
lutely certain  of  catching  a  glimpse  of  the  '  heaven-born 
lady  '  in  other  climes  as  here,  though,  it  must  be  confessed, 
she  nowhere  behaves  herself  quite  so  ill.  In  the  south  of 
France,  she  at  times  conceals  herself  in  a  total  eclipse:  in 
beautiful  Naples,  her  worshippers  are  one  day  treated  to  a 
snow-storm,  and  the  next  to  a  sirocco,  and  are  gravely 
counselled  to  betake  themselves  to  Athens,  in  search  of  the 
eluding  nymph,  and  once  there,  '  Living  Greece  no  more,' 
strongly  and  impressively  recommends  Egypt. 

With  the  bursting  forth  of  the  leaves,  it  is  hardly  worth 
one's  while  to  be  too  particular  or  critical  as  to  the  precise 
epoch,  but  simply  luxuriate  in  this  enchanting  season  when 
all  Nature  awakes  to  wondrous  beauty,  and  be  correspond- 
ingly grateful  for  blessings  received.  At  this  season  IMrs. 
Sanderson   found  plenty  of  occupation  in  the   garden,   for 


OF    BOSTON.  39 

botli  herself  and  children ;  she  procured  for  them  strong 
working  materials,  and  small  as  were  the  boys,  they  did 
good  service.  They  were  taught  to  be  industrious  and  use- 
ful, and,  under  the  united  efforts  of  mother  and  sons,  assisted 
by  Peter,  the  spot  assumed  the  most  enchanting  aspect. 


40  THE    BAUCLAV3 


CHAPTER   V. 

'  The  life  and  felicity  of  an  excellent  gardenei',  is  preferable  to  all 
other  diversions.'  Eveltx. 

The  beautiful  trees  blossomed  in  all  their  aflluence  of 
flowers  in  the  dear  old  garden ;  Nature  smiled  and  made  a 
bountiful  display  of  all  her  countless  charms ;  and  Mrs. 
Sanderson's  heart  and  feelings  expanded  with  the  gay  and 
vernal  season.  The  children  and  their  canine  friend,  Tiger, 
gambolled  amid  the  pleached  alleys,  and  the  dog's  shaggy 
coat  was  covered  with  snow-white  cherry  blossoms.  The 
birds  returned  to  their  pleasant  haunts  amidst  the  shrubbery, 
and  the  humming-bird  nestled  in  the  lilac;  and  as  the  weeks 
rolled  on,  fresh  gratifications  appeared  in  the  luxuries  of 
their  simple  board,  which  would  never  have  been  seen,  but 
for  the  favored  spot  from  which  this  family  derived  so 
many  pleasures.  ]Mrs.  Sanderson  almost  lived  in  the  open 
air,  a  circumstance  which  tended  to  improve  her  health,  and 
consequently  her  spirits.  She  had  ever  been  a  quiet  gentle 
creature  ;  so  very  unobtrusive  that  no  one  had  taken  the 
trouble,  except  her  departed  husband,  to  discover  her  many 
charming  qualities  ;  and  every  one  wondered  when  he  mar- 
ried her,  how  the  high-spirited  and  gay  Gerald  Sanderson 
could  have  chosen  so  tame  a  woman.  But  we  arc  all  rather 
inclined  to  like  our  opposites  in  character  ;  at  least,  one 
would  imagine  this  to  be  the  case  from  the  extraordinary 
freaks  plaved  by  Hvmcn.  Gerald  was  perfectly  satisfied, 
and  troubled  himself  little  with  these  animadversions  upon 
his  choice.     The   boys  throve  wondrously,  and   Mrs.  San- 


OF    BOSTON.  41 

derson  was  gathering  strength  imperceptibly  to  carry  her 
through  another  tedious  winter  and  its  long  evenings. 

And  where  was  her  brother  all  this  while  ?  Shut  up  in  hot 
close  rooms  in  the  morning,  taking  long  dusty  walks  to  his 
favorite  boundary  line,  and  vegetating  in  the  evening;  for 
he  never  issued  forth  on  the  most  brilliant  moon-light  nights. 
In  vain  his  sister  essayed  to  lure  him  into  the  garden ;  he 
would  not  be  tempted.  Now  and  then  he  walked  out,  on  an 
investigating  tour  of  his  premises,  sadly  alarming  Peter, 
Tiger,  and  the  boys,  who,  one  and  all,  fled  on  his  approach, 
and  secreted  themselves  like  guilty  things. 

Mr.  Egerton  would  have  been  outrageous,  had  he  been 
told  that  he  was  a  sad  Cockney,  but  such  he  innocently 
was,  and  there  could  be  no  gainsaying  of  the  assertion.  He 
delighted  in  noise,  dust  and  confusion  ;  he  seemed  to  enter- 
tain a  certain  vague  impression  that  his  garden  was  a  good 
place  for  fruits  and  vegetables,  and  his  sister  and  her  chil- 
dren, and  may  be  the  dog,  but  as  for  any  thing  else,  it  never 
entered  his  head  to  interest  himself  in  its  contents,  beyond 
the  pecuniary  results.  Any  body  might  have  the  flowers ; 
he  would  not  sell  them,  and  they  could  not  be  eaten,  so 
Peter  and  Dinah  had  permission  to  give  them  to  their  friends, 
as  Mrs.  Sanderson  did  not  appear  to  have  any  ;  and  so  they 
bestowed  them  upon  the  neighbors  in  the  most  liberal 
manner. 

It  may  appear  remarkable  that  Mrs.  Sanderson  should 
have  been  so  insulated,  but  she  was  educated  at  home  by 
her  father ;  assisted  by  private  masters,  he  had  completed 
the  finishing  of  her  education ;  and  she  was  really  well 
grounded  in  all  he  had  attempted  to  teach  her.  A  scholarly 
person  himself,  he  rejoiced  in  her  docility  and  application, 
and  bestowed  upon  her  the  closest  attention.  She  was  a 
tolerable  Latin  scholar,  a  very  good  French  one,  and  read 
Italian;  to  history  and  geography  and  her  own  language,  her 
father  had  devoted  many  years.  Few  young  girls  were 
better  fitted  to  enjoy  the  fruits  of  the  time  passed  in  ac- 
4* 


42  TIIK  Barclays 

quirements  ;  she  was  so  self-centred  and  studious,  that  she 
richly  repaid  all  his  paternal  care.  Of  all  this  her  brother, 
who  was  absent  at  the  time,  was  completely  ignorant,  and 
on  his  return  home,  finding  a  shrinking  young  creature, 
who  evidently  held  him  in  great  awe,  he  gave  his  sister  no 
credit  for  her  various  attainments ;  and  this,  superadded  to 
his  other  preconceived  ideas  touching  her  sex,  was  abun- 
dant cause  for  his  total  neglect  of  a  woman  who  might  have 
been  to  him  a  joy  and  a  blessing  in  his  solitary  pathway  of 
life. 

But  no ;  Mr.  Philip  Egerton  stalked  about  with  his  head 
elevated  above  all  weak-minded  women,  and  thereby  lost  a 
very  pleasant  portion  of  agreeable  things  in  this  world, 
which  other  persons,  not  so  ovcrwise  and  fastidious,  enjoy 
with  vast  contentment  and  pleasure. 

But  to  return  to  Mrs.  Sanderson.  She  having  had  no 
acquaintances  before  marriage,  made  only  very  formal  ones 
after  ;  her  husband  had  no  family,  and  was  ever  devoted 
to  her,  she  asked  for  nothing  more  ;  and  thus  they  had 
lived  for  each  other,  and  hardly  saw  any  one.  This  is 
always  injudicious  ;  we  are  all  subjects  of  sudden  casualties 
which  demand  assistance,  and  misfortunes  requiring  sympa- 
thy. When  Mrs.  Sanderson's  dark  hours  arrived,  for  none 
escape,  she  was  friendless.  Gerald  Sanderson  had  been 
admired  and  respected  by  his  fellow-citizens,  and  when  he 
departed,  offers  of  kindness  poured  in  from  all  his  friends  ; 
as  she  knew  them  but  slightly,  they  were  refused.  She 
thereby  shut  her  doors  upon  those  who,  in  after  years, 
might  have  been  of  essential  service  to  her  orphans. 

This  was  a  great  mistake,  but  one  that  is  often  made 
under  similar  afflictions,  and  Mrs.  Sanderson  was  doomed  to 
pay  the  penalty.  Then  many  persons  would  not  have  been 
discouraged  by  first  failures,  had  she  not  been  removed  to 
her  brother's  dwelling  ;  but  he  was  so  very  inhospitable  and 
so  haughtily  polite,  that  his  patronizing  and  supercilious 
manner   was   absolutely    offensive.       Nobody   likes   to   be 


OF    BOSTON.  43 

overtly  patronized.  Nobody  wished  to  approach  Mr,  Eger- 
ton,  even  if  he  had  desired  society,  which  he  certainly  did 
not ;  so  his  sister  seemed  fated  to  wear  away  her  existence  in 
utter  seclusion,  in  the  heart  of  a  city,  surrounded  by  a  dense 
population,  and  within  hearing  of  its  noise  and  bustle  ;  — 
this  indeed  was  solitude. 

And  did  she  not  feel  herself  alone  ?  Assuredly,  and, 
though  she  was  a  person  remarkably  well  fitted  for  the  sort 
of  life  she  led,  perhaps,  better  than  most  women,  yet,  at 
times,  the  sense  of  her  own  loneliness  and  friendlessness  was 
bitterly  oppressive.  The  boys  were  not  old  enough  to  be 
aught  but  playthings  during  the  daylight,  and  it  was  the  long 
evenings  she  dreaded. 

Autumn  put  on  her  robes  of  many  colors,  than  which 
nothing  can  be  more  beautiful  in  America,  and  soon  stern 
"Winter  returned.  This  season  found  Mrs.  Sanderson  better 
prepared  for  her  position  :  fortified  by  the  pleasant  and  pure 
atmosphere  in  which  she  had  lived,  her  strength  was  in- 
creased, her  health  improved,  and  her  mind  more  composed 
and  resigned.  She  had  sought  and  prayed  for  courage  and 
submission,  and  the  petition  had  been  answered.  She  began 
to  think  that,  as  Gerald  was  eight  years  old  and  a  very  pre- 
cocious boy,  it  would  be  well  to  give  him  a  Latin  grammar 
and  rub  up  her  own  classics,  which  she  did.  Gerald,  nothing 
loth,  applied  himself  vigorously  to  his  tasks ;  and,  indeed, 
there  was  no  trouble  whatever  in  teaching  him,  his  desire 
to  learn  being  so  dominant  that  he  rather  anticipated  his 
daily  exercises,  than  avoided  them. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  found  the  teaching  of  her  son  a  pleasant 
and  grateful  occupation  ;  he  came  with  his  books,  his  lessons 
learned,  and  thirsting  for  more  ;  so  that  she  had  but  to  arrange 
them  for  him. 

It  is  to  be  regretted  or  not,  as  the  tastes  may  be,  that  the 
same  good  account  could  not  be  given  of  Charley,  for  he 
was  never  to  be  found  on  like  occasions  :  he  was  off  with  his 
boon  companion,  Tiger,  hidden  in  snow-banks,  and  for 


44  THE    BARCLAYS 

for  any  thing  but  learning.  Then  there  was  such  a  bewitch- 
ing old  coach-house,  in  which  carriage  there  was  none,  after 
the  fashion  of  the  library,  minus  the  books ;  but  it  was  so 
charming !  All  the  old  trumpery  and  broken  articles  which 
the  family  ever  owned,  of  the  grandiose  kind,  were  there 
ensconced.  Then  there  was  such  a  collection,  as  had  been 
rarely  ever  seen,  in  the  immense  garrets  of  the  old  house  ! 
There  seemed  to  have  been  brought  together  under  Mr, 
Egerton's  roof  every  odd  article  under  the  sun,  collected 
from  all  quarters  of  the  globe  ;  he  had  never  even  taken 
the  pains  to  investigate  the  contents  of  his  own  higher 
regions,  which  had  been  amply  stored  by  his  late  father, 
who  having  been  an  India  merchant,  had  left  the  relics  of 
his  cargoes  in  odds  and  ends  innumerable.  The  old  gentle- 
man had  retired  early  in  life  from  business,  having  many 
scholarly  tastes,  and  had  hardly  given  a  thought  to  the  upper 
part  of  his  dwelling.  It  was  just  such  explorations  as  little 
Charley  Sanderson  was  habitually  making  to  excavate,  if 
such  a  word  can  be  used,  considering  it  was  a  garret,  all 
these  wondrous  things,  and  every  day  his  mother  heard  of 
some  extraordinary  discovery.  Headless  figures  of  Chinese 
mandarins,  Turkish  pipes  of  enormous  boa  constrictor  size, 
quantities  of  indigo  and  synchaws,  immense  Spanish  olive 
jars,  figuring  forth  the  forty  thieves,  bamboo  chairs  and  sofas 
and  huge  fans,  Russia  duck,  and  bows  and  arrows,  and  other 
warlike  missiles  from  the  Sandwich  Islands  and  the  North- 
west coast,  with  countless  other  things.  When  the  hour  for 
study  arrived,  it  was  extremely  difficult  to  find  the  truant 
Charley  ;  hornbook  and  slate  were  alike  undiscovered ;  both 
Peter  and  Dinah  assisting  in  the  concealment  of  their  dar- 
ling, and  declaring  he  was  altogether  too  young  for  tasks, 
and  too  wonderful  and  too  charming  '  to  ever  live  to  grow 
up,'  and  consequently  would  not  require  instruction. 

When,  at  last,  he  was  unearthed,  his  hands  must  be 
washed,  and  his  spirits  brought  into  some  degree  of  compo- 
sure, and  Tiger  locked  out  of  the  room,  and  he,  undignified 


OF.  BOSTON.  45 

doggie,  scratched  and  whined  at  the  door  all  the  while  the 
unwilling  urchin  was  puzzling  about  p's  and  q's  ;  so  the 
results  were  not  of  the  most  satisfactory  order  to  his  mother. 
It  required  to  be  a  mother  to  do  such  hard  duty. 

It  is  extremely  doubtful  if  women  ever  receive  the  meed 
they  certainly  deserve  for  their  exertions  in  small  things,  for 
all  the  wearisome  hours  spent  in  teaching  rebellious  and 
giddy  children  ;  -and  it  is  equally  certain  that  mothers  volun- 
tarily take  this  trouble  upon  themselves  ;  it  may  be,  they 
can  find  no  one  to  do  it  for  them. 

At  the  end  of  the  winter,  Charley  Sanderson  had  learned 
to  put  two  letters  together,  which  immediately  flew  apart  and 
never  reunited,  so  that,  after  all  the  pains  taken  to  enlighten 
him,  he  had  made  small  progress  in  literature  ;  but  then  he 
had  occupied  his  mother,  kept  her  from  herself,  and  thus  far 
his  academical  course  had  been  successful.  It  would  be  a 
pleasant  thing  for  victimized  maternity,  if  children  could  be 
taught  to  read  by  some  patent  way  ;  to  be  sure,  there  is  the 
phonetic,  but  then  they  must  be  taught  twice  over,  and  once 
is  suflicient,  in  all  conscience,  for  the  poor  young  things,  not 
to  even  mention  their  mammas. 

That  winter  a  gentleman,  who  had  been  a  client  of  the 
deceased  iMr.  Sanderson,  returned  from  Europe,  and,  as  he 
owed  his  lawyer  a  few  hundreds,  duly  paid  theiu  over  to  his 
widow,  who  placed  a  portion  for  each  of  the  boys  in  the 
savings  bank,  and  reserved  the  rest  for  emergencies. 

In  a  few  monotonous  and  weary  years  Gerald  was  entered, 
quite  successfully,  at  the  Latin  school,  and  his  schoolmates 
were  quite  astonished  when  they  discovered  that  he  had  been 
prepared  by  his  mother. 

Charley  entreated  his  mother  to  send  him  to  a  High 
School,  '  for,'  said  he,  '  Gerald  will  never  work,  and  I  must, 
and  cannot  spare  time  for  Latin  and  Greek.  I  must  push 
my  way  in  merchandise.'  So  Mrs.  Sanderson  permitted  him 
to  do  as  he  pleased,  and  Charley  entered  the  High  School, 
and  having  followed  his  own  inclinations,  succeeded  remark- 


46  THE    BARCLAYS 

ably  well,  his  devoted  parent  having  effectually  taught  him  to 
unite  the  flying  apart  letters,  and  many  good  things  beside. 

At  school  Gerald  made  no  acquaintances  ;  apparently 
caring  for  no  boy  but  his  brother,  his  studies  whollv  engross- 
ing him  ;  there  was  no  need  of  exciting  him  in  any  way  ;  on 
the  contrary,  it  was  almost  necessary  to  divert  his  thoughts 
from  them,  lest  he  might  injure  himself.  When  not  occu- 
pied in  studying  his  lessons,  he  was  absorbed  in  castle-build- 
ing of  various  kinds,  which  he  sometimes  communicated  to 
his  mother ;  this  was  generally  directed  to  Harvard  Univer- 
sity, his  whole  heart  being  filled  with  an  ardent  desire  to  go 
to  Cambridge,  to  strive  for  collegiate  rewards  and  honors,  to 
attain  scholastic  eminence,  to  live  and  die  a  scholar. 

Now  this  was  a  sad  tribulation  for  his  mother,  as  she  was 
unable  to  meet  the  expenses  attendant  on  a  college  life,  how- 
ever restricted  they  might  be.  She  bittei'ly  deplored  her  ina- 
bility, but  felt  the  impossibility  of  gathering  together,  even 
with  the  greatest  economy,  a  sufficient  sum  for  incidental 
expenses.  It  may  appear  extraordinary  that  desiring,  as  she 
earnestly  did,  to  promote  Gerald's  views,  she  should  not  have 
applied  to  her  brother,  but  she  knew  that  he  perfectly  under- 
stood the  state  of  things,  and  that,  if  he  proposed  to  act,  he 
would  make  the  offer  spontaneously,  and  that  by  asking  she 
would  only  subject  herself  to  a  rebuff,  and  be  made  even 
more  unhappy  still. 

Mr.  Egerton  had  seen  the  boy  for  years,  understood  his 
character,  perfectly  appreciated  his  efforts,  and  even  some- 
times commented  upon  his  remarkable  devotion  to  his  books 
and  love  for  study,  never,  however,  with  much  commenda- 
tion, and  pressed  the  matter  no  farther.  3Irs.  Sanderson, 
timid  and  unassuming,  and  thinking  herself  already  under 
immense  obligations  to  her  brother,  whom  she  held  in  great 
awe,  dared  not  open  her  lips  on  this  all-engrossing  subject; 
so  things  remained  as  they  were,  and  Gerald  worked  on. 

Charley,  having,  as  before  mentioned,  been  well  satisfied 
with  his  mother's  compliance  with  his  wishes,  became  quite 


/ 


OF    BOSTON.  47 

interested  in  his  studies,  and  was  fast  becoming  a  great 
favorite  in  his  school,  and  a  good  scholar.  Charley's  friends 
were  legion ;  he  was  never  seen  without  a  trainof  followers, 
who  seemed  quite  dependent  upon  him  for  their  amuse- 
ments; he  had  entire  control  of  the  coach-house,  and  that 
became  a  place  of  great  resort.  Into  the  garden  no  foot 
penetrated,  and  many  were  the  longing  glances  directed  to 
that  Eden,  with  its  black  Adam  and  Eve,  for  Peter  and 
Dinah  were  always,  one  or  the  other,  keeping  watch  in  its 
precincts  for  marauders ;  so  there  was  no  chance  for  scaling 
walls,  and  appropriating,  to  use  a  gentle  word,  the  delicious 
fruits  and  flowers  it  contained  ;  the  latter,  Peter,  knowing 
his  master  cared  nothing  for  them,  permitted  Charley  to 
bestow  upon  his  adherents  in  immense  quantities.  But  what 
were  flowers  in  the  eyes  of  hungry  schoolboys,  compared 
w^ith  the  delights  of  brown  Burys  and  Seckels  ?  It  must  be 
confessed  this  state  of  things  was  very  tantalizing  for  the 
5-oung  revellers,  at  all  times  addicted  to  the  luxuries  which 
Pomona  had  so  luxuriantly  showered  on  this  favored  spot, 
who  were  obliged  to  look  on  and  be  denied  the  feast. 

Charley  was  the  most  generous  of  boys,  but  this  was  a 
point  of  honor  with  him,  which  nothing  could  induce  him  to 
infringe  ;  the  rules  of  the  house  must  be  observed,  even  for 
a  windfall,  so  his  friends  devoured  with  their  eyes,  as  boys 
will,  and  the  young  host  lamented  in  vain  his  hard  fate,  and 
learned  abundant  lessons  of  self-denial  and  probit}-.  One  " 
dav  Charley  was  mounted  upon  the  high  garden  wall,  near 
a  pear  tree,  bending  under  a  rich  load  of  luscious  fruit  just 
ripened,  when  a  gust  of  wind  precipitated  a  quantity  to  the 
earth.  The  boys  on  the  outside,  seeing  this  downfall,  en- 
treated him  to  give  them  just  two  or  three  pears.  '  That's 
all,  just  two  or  three,  dear  Charley,'  said  Robert  Redmond  ; 
'  pray  do,  they  look  so  good  ;  the  old  fellow  will  know  noth- 
ing about  it.'  '  Nothing  would  give  me  more  pleasure,' 
replied  Charley,  '  but  my  uncle's  knowing  nothing  of  the 
matter  will  not  alter  my  intentions  ;  I  know  it  to  be  wrong. 


48  THE    BARCLAYS 

as  I  am  forbidden  to  touch  them  by  my  mother,  and  should 
not  forgive  myself  if  I  could  be  guilty  of  such  a  mean- 
ness.' 

'  Oh,'  screamed  Robert,  who  was  the  ringleader  and 
spokesman,  '  you  will  soon  be  as  stingy  as  your  old  miserly 
uncle,  if  you  live  as  long.' 

'  Wait  till  I  have  something  to  give.  Bob,  and  then  you'll 
see  if  I  am  stingy  or  not ;  it's  my  uncle's  fruit,  and  he  has 
a  right  to  do  as  he  pleases  with  it.' 

Here  a  chorus  of  epithets  saluted  Charley's  uncle  ;  he 
was  called  an  old  crab  tree,  an  old  Elwes,  and  a  double- 
refined  miser. 

'  The  first  bit  of  money  I  get,'  said  Charley,  '  I'll  treat 
you  all,  if  you'll  cease  abusing  my  uncle,  and  you  shall  see 
if  I  can't  give.' 

'  Give  now,'  said  a  voice  behind  him.  He  turned  and 
beheld  Mr.  Egerton,  who,  reaching  him  a  few  dozens  of  the 
coveted  fruit,  ordered  him  to  throw  them  to  the  little  outside 
barbarians;  and,  moreover,  inform  them  they  were  the  first 
and  the  last  they  should  ever  have  ;  and  that  these  were 
only  bestowed  in  honor  of  his  own  honesty. 

Poor  Charley  !  his  was  a  severe  school  of  youthful  priva- 
tion and  endurance,  and  but  for  the  gentle  mother  who 
watched  so  tenderly  over  him,  would  have  been  sad  indeed  ; 
as  he  experienced,  even  at  his  early  age,  a  sense  of  depend- 
ence, both  irritating  and  disagreeable,  and  longed  for  the 
time  when  he  should,  by  his  own  exertions,  be  emancipated 
from  his  uncle's  control,  so  cold  and  ungenial. 


OF     BOSTON.  49 


CHAPTER   VI. 


'  If  the  stock  of  our  bliss  is  in  stranger  hands  vested, 
The  fund  ill  secured  oft  in  bankruptcy  ends, 
But  the  heart  issues  bills  which  are  never  protested, 
When  drawn  on  the  firm  of  wife,  children  and  friends.' 

Lord  Spencer. 

Mr.  John  Barclay,  the  father  of  the  budding  beauties 
mentioned  in  the  first  chapter  of  this  book,  was  the  son  of  a 
most  respectable  merchant  in  Boston,  who  having  bestowed 
upon  him  a  collegiate  education,  was  unable  to  do  more,  hav- 
ing a  large  family  and  small  means.  The  son,  thrown  upon 
his  own  resources,  applied  himself  diligently  to  commerce, 
and  being  very  judicious  and  fortunate,  amassed  a  large 
property.  Mr.  Barclay,  over  whose  birth  some  benevolent 
fairy  would  have  appeared  to  preside,  was  gifted  with  all 
manner  of  good  and  pleasant  things.  In  person  he  was 
above  the  middle  size,  rather  stout  "and  massive,  yet  very 
lithe  and  active,  and  a  perfect  type  of  health  and  strength ; 
his  face  beamed  with  intelligence  and  beauty,  and  to  these 
were  added  a  frank,  generous  and  loyal  nature,  and  the 
most  admirable  temper.  Rich,  handsome,  and  fascinating, 
every  body  wondered  when  Mr.  Barclay  married  Catherine 
Seyton,  a  girl  whom  all  the  world  pronounced  to  be  awk- 
ward, ugly,  and  pennyless.  It  has  always  been,  and  ever 
will  be,  a  problem  to  be  solved  why  the  joining  together  of 
two  persons  in  Hymen's  bonds  should  be  a  circumstance  of 
such  enduring  importance  to  all  their  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances, who  manifestly  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter; 


50  THE    BARCLAYS 

but  so  it  is,  and  Mi',  and  Mrs.  Barclay  proved  no  exception 
to  this  all-prevalent  rule.  Indeed,  it  appeared  that  they 
had  an  unusual  portion  of  attention  and  criticism,  he  for  his 
bad  taste,  and  she  for  her  astonishing  good  luck.  A  state 
of  wonderment  is  one  most  pleasingly  adapted  to  American 
natures ;  we  have  abandoned  guessing,  in  polite  circles,  and 
taken  to  wondering.  But  even  the  wisest  of  seers  may  be, 
at  times,  mistaken,  and  the  awkward  and  ugly  girl  became, 
in  a  few  revolving  years,  an  uncommon  fine  woman  with 
charmingly  graceful  manners.  Some  travelled  persons  de- 
clared this  great  change  to  proceed  from  Mrs.  Barclay 
having  gained  flesh,  for  she  had  been  too  thin  ;  others  that 
she  had  grown  taller ;  some  said  one  thing,  some  another, 
but  all  agreed  in  thinking  her  very  beautiful.  She  could 
have  revealed  the  cause  in  one  word  —  happiness.  And 
truly  hers  was  a  blessed  lot,  the  lines  being  cas>  in  pleasant 
places  indeed.  She  adored  her  husband  and  respected  him  ; 
she  watched  over  her  children  with  intense  care  and  de- 
votion ;  she  was  a  firm,  true  and  loyal  friend,  and  a 
kind  neighbor,  with  a  heart  abounding  in  gratitude  to  her 
Creator  for  mercies  received  ;  she  availed  herself  of  her 
signal  advantages  to  enjoy  them  wisely,  discreetly  and 
cheerfully. 

Three  daughters  and  a  son  composed  this  happy  house- 
hold :  Georgiana,  the  first-born,  was  one  year  older  than 
her  sister,  Grace,  but  this  was  hardly  perceptible,  even  to 
the  parents,  so  remarkably  alike  were  these  lovely  young 
creatures,  who  had  reached  the  respective  ages  of  fifteen 
and  sixteen.  Kate,  the  third  child,  was  just  fourteen,  and 
certainly  possessed  none  of  the  remarkable  attractions  of 
her  sisters  ;  she  was  a  tall  girl  for  her  years,  running  out 
her  head  fearfully,  rolling  round  an  amazingly  black  pair  of 
eyes,  and  perpetually  shaking  over  them  large  masses  of 
not  over-fine  black  hair,  whicli,  by  no  process  whatever, 
could  be  kept  smooth  or  iaj)lace;  then  she  never,  by  any 
chance,  stood  still  a  moment,  but  was  constantly  balancing 


OF    BOSTON.  51 

herself,  first  on  one  leg  and  then  on  the  other,  and,  in 
addition,  was  a  sad  romp,  with  a  good  heart  and  high  tem- 
per. Johnny,  the  youngest,  at  ten,  was  like  most  small  boys 
of  his  age,  busily  occupied  in  playing  and  eating,  his  father 
having  thought  proper  to  send  him  to  an  excellent  boarding 
school  in  the  country ;  he  prospered,  and,  in  his  vacations, 
twice  gladdened  the  hearts  of  his  affectionate  relatives, 
when  he  returned  home  and  when  he  departed. 

Mr.  Barclay  had  one  brother,  a  bachelor,  who  had  lived 
many  years  in  France.  A  perfect  contrast  was  Mr.  Richard 
Barclay  to  Mr.  John  :  the  one  genial,  pleasant  and  gracious, 
looking  on  the  bright  side  of  all  things ;  the  other  rough, 
burly,  and  an  inveterate  gambler,  incessantly  trying  to  con- 
ceal his  good  and  endearing  qualities  under  a  disagreeable 
mask.  ]\Ir.  Richard  Barclay  could  find  nothing  to  like  out 
of  Paris  ;  just  as  devotedly  as  Mr.  Philip  Egerton  wor- 
shipped England,  so  did  this  gentleman  adore  France ;  but 
they  both  agreed  in  hating  each  other  mortally.  Mr.  Rich- 
ard Barclay  recounted  innumerable  anecdotes  of  Mr.  Eger- 
ton's  nonsensical  (he  called  it)  preference  for  the  white 
clitrs  of  Albion,  and  wondered  why  the  old  miser  did  not 
betake  himself  to  them  and  leave  Boston  forever.  Mr. 
Egerton,  not  to  be  outdone,  declared  Mr.  Barclay  to  be 
Gallic  mad,  and  wondered  why  the  old  bear  had  not  picked 
up  a  little  politeness  amidst  the  well-mannered  people  whom 
he  so  distractedly  admired.  These  pleasant  opinions  of 
each  other  being  bandied  backwards  and  forwards  to  the 
separate  parties  by  kind  and  peace-loving  friends,  added  fuel 
to  the  never-expiring  flames  of  their  long  standing  feud,  and 
nothing  hindered  their  coming  to  blov/s  but  their  never 
coming  together. 

Mr.  Richard  had,  to  the  surprise  of  every  one,  highly 
approved  of  his  brother  John's  choice,  he  having  discovered 
the  germs  of  a  remarkable  woman  under  the  veil  of  shyness 
and  timidity,  which  imparted  to  Catherine  Seyton  the  false 
semblance  of  awkwardness ;  he  had  appreciated  the  good 


52 


THE    BARCLAYS 


sense  and  the  sensibility  of  the  young  girl,  and  knew  her  to 
be  w6ll  read,  well  educated,  and  even  accomplished. 

Mrs.  John  Barclay  never  forgot  this  championship,  and 
richly  she  repaid  Mr.  Richard  for  all  the  pleasant  things  he 
had  far  and  wide  disseminated  in  her  favor ;  she  made  his 
brother's  house  a  little  paradise  for  the  forlorn  bachelor, 
according  him  the  warmest  seat  at  her  fireside,  the  choicest 
bits  at  table,  and  innumerable  other  incidental  circumstances, 
touching  disrupturcd  buttons  and  ever  altering  collars,  com- 
bined to  remind  him  that  she  had  not  forgotten  his  helping 
hand  in  her  hour  of  need.  In  fact,  nothing  could  exceed 
Mrs.  Barclay's  devotion  at  all  times  and  seasons,  and  Mr. 
Richard  had  a  growl  for  every  one,  save  his  sister  Cathe- 
rine ;  he  never  called  her  sister-in-law,  and  always  declared 
her  to  be  virtuousest,  discreetest,  best,  —  in  fact,  a  model 
woman. 

All  this  attention  to  his  wants  and  wishes  was  the  more 
meritorious,  as  there  was  absolutely  nothing  to  be  anticipated 
in  the  way  of  the  'root  of  all  evil'  from  Mr.  Richard,  he  not 
being  one  of  the  American  uncles  who  llourish  in  the  French 
vaudevilles,  and  annihilating  time  and  space,  arrive  with 
big  bags  of  gold  pieces,  in  the  extremity  of  heroes  and 
heroines,  to  make  two  lovers  happy.  ]Mr.  Barclay's  father, 
it  lias  already  been  stated,  was  not  rich  ;  he  left  at  his 
decease  a  very  small  patrimony  to  be  portioned  out  to  a 
large  family,  the  members  of  which,  dying  early  in  life, 
bequeathed  their  minute  modicums  to  the  two  surviving 
brothers,  John  and  Richard.  The  former  pertinaciously 
declining  to  take  a  dollar  of  the  money,  it  naturally  reverted 
to  his  brother,  and  he  went  directly  to  his  beloved  France, 
and,  once  there,  thougli  he  had  always  maintained  it  to  be 
the  most  economical  country  in  the  known  world,  contrived 
to  spend  a  vast  deal  more  than  he  could  reasonably  atlbrd, 
and  found  himself,  much  against  his  will,  obliged  to  return 
home,  being  unwilling  to  retrench  in  his  adored  Paris. 

Mr.  Richard  was  what  is  usually  denominated  a  stronc- 


OF    BOSTON'.  53 

minded  individual.  Now  it  often  happens  that  this  manner 
of  man  is  exceedingly  disagreeable,  and  the  same  manner 
of  woman  infinitely  worse.  The  possession  of  this  strong 
mind,  being  usually  demonstrated  by  hardness  of  spirit,  loud 
voices  which  ring  unpleasantly  on  the  ears,  and  dogmatical 
opinions,  so  decidedly  obstinate  as  never  to  be  susceptible  of 
change.  Mr.  Richard  was  wont  to  assert  that  '  he  carried 
not  his  heart  on  his  sleeve  for  daws  to  peck  at.' 

Mr.  Barclay  ardently  desired  that  his  brother  should  live 
with  him  ;  but  that  the  gentleman  positively  refused  to  do, 
saying,  he  much  preferred  a  den  of  his  own  to  inhabiting  a 
palace  belonging  to  any  one  else.  Finding  his  resolves 
mialterable,  Mr.  Barclay  fitted  up  for  him  the  nicest  snug- 
gery imaginable,  to  which  his  wife  added  many  feminine 
touches,  which  combined  to  make  a  very  comfortable  whole 
indeed.  In  this  den  Mr.  Richard  growled  away  his  day, 
longing  for  the  evening  when  he  could  repair  to  his  brother's 
pleasant  fireside.  In  vain  his  relations  urged  him  to  dine 
with  them  daily,  but  he  chose  Sunday,  and  to  that  day  ad- 
hered religiously. 

Somehow  his  experience  of  his  cherished  theoiy,  that  man 
could  live  alone,  was  sufficient  to  himself,  and  dependent  on 
no  extraneous  circumstances  for  enjoyment,  was  a  failure  ; 
it  was  the  last  thing  in  the  world  to  be  acknowledged,  but  so 
it  was.  To  this  melancholy  fact  he  endeavored  to  blind 
himself,  by  holding  forth,  on  all  possible  and  impossible 
occasions,  and  expending  a  vast  deal  of  time  and  breath  on 
his  favorite  topic,  but  in  his  heart  of  hearts  he  doubted,  and 
that  dubiousness  made  him  all  the  more  obstinately  vehe- 
ment. This  theory  was  a  constant  source  of  discussion 
between  himself  and  his  relatives,  who  desired  most  sin- 
cerely to  behold  the  happiness  of  the  being  whom  they 
tenderly  loved  ;  they  were  thoroughly  convinced  he  was  the 
man  to  marry,  for,  assuredly,  he  was  miserable  alone,  and 
could  fare  none  the  worse  with  a  companion,  and  the  grand 
experiment  was  worth  trying  in  such  a  desperate  case. 


54  THE    BARCLAYS 

Mr.  Richard  had  passed  through  the  bachelor's  inevitable 
ordeal  of  being  crossed  in  love,  a  perilous  passage  ever, 
because  a  man  always  thinks  to  his  dying  day,  that  if  he  had 
married  the  woman  he  should  have  been  happier  and  better. 
Perhaps,  in  this  gentlemen's  case,  this  view  of  the  subject 
might  have  proved  correct.  From  the  fatal  epoch  of  his 
'cross'  our  bachelor  had  eschewed  womankind,  and  was 
evermore  showering  on  the  devoted  heads  of  the  fair  sex  a 
quantity  of  objurgations  frightful  to  hear;  he  disliked  bread- 
and-bulter  girls,  thought  unmarried  ladies  of  a  certain  age 
detestable,  and  had  no  words  wherewith  to  express  his  abhor- 
rence of  widows,  all  and  several.  A  sensible  and  agreeable 
matron  was  then  his  last  and  sole  resource,  and  there  being 
no  fair  mischiefs  amongst  this  class  in  virtuous  America, 
Mr.  Richard  led  a  very  respectable  life ;  and  yet  it  often 
happens  that  a  man  may  be  extremely  respectable  and  very 
much  hated,  and  this  was  the  gentleman's  unhappy  plight. 

Now  Mr.  Egerton  despised  womankind  quite  as  much  as 
his  enemy,  but  then  his  contempt  was  too  concentrated  and 
condensed  for  mere  words  ;  he  contented  himself,  when  he 
met  any  of  the  trio  of  categories  above-mentioned,  to  hold 
his  white  head  so  monstrously  high  that  he  never  saw  them, 
and  as  he  never  went  any  where,  the  world  of  women  was 
spared  his  private  opinions,  nobody  but  his  poor  sister  being 
made  aware  of  them,  and  even  to  her  he  was  very  mono- 
syllabic. 

Mr.  Richard  could  not  hold  his  peace  equally  well,  and 
though  he  accused  the  sex  of  evermore  chattering,  he  was 
nowise  behindhand  in  this  feminine  accomplishment.  It 
has  been  before  hinted,  that  these  two  worthies  never  met  — 
if  they  had,  dire  would  have  been  the  consequences,  and 
great  the  shock  thereof;  so  they  had  no  means  of  compar- 
ing notes,  and  there  is  small  doubt  but  they  would  have 
agreed  to  disagree  even  upon  this,  their  mutually  favorite 
topic. 


OF    BOSTON.  55 

As  in  the  case  of  Mrs.  Barclay  her  brother  made  an  ex- 
ception in  her  favor,  even  so  with  her  children  he  deviated 
from  his  rules,  or  rather  with  her  daughters  ;  he  perfectly 
idolized  them,  and  was  perpetually  lavishing  upon  them  all 
manner  of  pretty  things,  adapted  to  their  various  tastes 
and  pursuits.  It  seemed  to  be  an  outpouring  of  all  the  pent- 
up  treasures  of  his  garnered  affections  upon  their  young 
heads. 

Mrs.  Barclay  was  incessantly  entreating  him  not  to  waste 
so  much  money  in  extravagant  purchases,  but  all  in  vain. 
With  regard  to  little  Johnny,  Mr.  Richard  declared  that  no 
father  ever  saw  his  son  when  he  was  young,  except  when  he 
was  hungry  —  and  when  he  grew  older,  except  when  he 
wanted  money.  This  Mrs.  Barclaj^  considered  truly  shock- 
ing. The  brother,  however,  left  the  urchin  to  his  own  trap 
and  ball  devices,  and  contented  himself  with  jerking  quarters 
of  dollars  to  him  for  candies  and  marbles.  And  Johnny  did 
not  particularly  admire  his  uncle,  and  habitually  shirked  his 
awful  presence  when  he  met  him  in  the  streets,  by  dodging 
round  corners  and  down  by-lanes  to  avoid  him  ;  so  there  was 
no  love  lost  between  them. 

The  daughters  compensated  for  this  absence  of  affection 
on  the  part  of  the  only  son,  by  lavishing  caresses  on  their 
relative.  They  thought  him,  to  be  sure,  rough,  and  lament- 
ed it ;  but  they  loved  him,  nevertheless,  with  all  the  fervor 
and  freshness  of  young  hearts,  and  this,  with  the  devotion  of 
his  brother  and  sister,  formed  the  one  green  spot  in  the 
desert  of  existence,  which  the  wilfully  obstinate  man  had 
carefully  made  for  himself. 

Nothing  is  more  true  than  the  oft-repeated  assertion,  that 
we  carve  out  our  destinies  with  our  own  hands.  The  world 
being  our  oyster,  how  do  we  open  it  ?     Awkwardly  enough. 

Mr.  Richard  would  have  been  inexpressibly  shocked,  had 
he  been  informed  that  he  in  nowise  followed  the  sacred  book 
to  which  he  habitually  gave  a  portion  of  his  time  and  at- 
tention.    The  fact  was,  he  perused  it  without  digesting  its 


56  THE    BARCLAYS 

blessed  contents,  and  satisfying  himself  by  so  doing,  the  mere 
act  became  in  his  eyes  devotional.  In  this,  as  well  as  in 
other  things,  he  formed  a  most  striking  contrast  to  his  excel- 
lent brother,  who,  reading  the  Bible,  acted  out  and  followed 
its  precepts  in  his  daily  walk  of  life,  and  beautifully  illustra- 
ted, in  his  own  proper  person,  the  ennobling  and  revivifying 
effects  of  his  healthful  draughts  at  the  Fountain  of  all  light 
and  life. 

If  Mr.  Richard  had  any  particular  favorite  amidst  his 
brother's  three  daughters,  Kate  had  the  best  chance  ;  he, 
however,  was  rather  unwilling  to  acknowledge  this  even  to 
himself.  Georgiana  and  Grace  every  one  lauded  and  praised, 
but  the  romp  was  not,  by  any  means,  so  much  admired  as 
her  sisters,  and  this  state  of  things  rather  inclined  her  uncle 
to  show  a  peculiar  degree  of  graciousness  towards  her,  for 
him.  He  had,  from  some  whim,  bestowed  upon  Kate  the 
title  of  Dolly,  at  which  the  whole  family,  at  first,  rebelled, 
and  finished  by  adopting  it,  the  young  thing  sturdily  setting 
the  example  by  never  calling  herself  any  thing  else.  She 
was  passionately  attached  to  her  father,  following  him  every 
where,  like  his  shadow,  sitting  always  on  his  knee,  and  con- 
stantly caressing  him,  her  eyes  ever  seeking  the  direction 
of  his,  and  she  gave  her  undivided  attention  to  every  word 
he  uttered.  In  fact,  the  only  time  she  could  ever  be  declar- 
ed quiet,  was  when  she  was  listening  to  her  father.  She 
resembled  Mr.  Richard  in  the  strength  of  her  prejudices, 
and  her  open  expression  of  them,  and  her  impulsiveness  was 
a  source  of  constant  apprehension  to  her  mother,  who  foresaw 
much  trial  and  suffering  in  store  for  her  child,  if  her  super- 
abounding  energies  should  be  misdirected,  and  felicitous  re- 
sults in  the  event  of  their  being  led  by  judicious  means  into 
proper  channels.  She  knew  that  she  must  be  the  counter- 
balancing medium  between  the  father  and  daughter.  It  was 
a  hard  thing  for  Mr.  Barclay  to  utter  the  monosyllable  '  No' 
to  his  daughters ;  with  his  son  he  was  very  firm  and  resolute. 


OF    BOSTON.  57 

With  Georgy  and  Grace  coersion  was  a  thing  unknown,  be- 
cause unrequired,  but  the  Dolly  was  perpetually  demanding 
restrictions,  as  she  reserved  to  her  Ihtle  exacting  self  a  great 
degree  of  latitude  in  both  her  actions  and  opinions.  It  may 
seem  absurd  to  mention  the  opinions  of  such  a  young  thing, 
but  they  were  as  firmly  rooted  as  if  many  more  years  than  she 
called  her  own,  had  passed  over  her  head.  An  indomitable 
spirit  was  lying  in  her  little  person,  and  not  dormant  either, 
but  ever  ready  to  burst  forth  upon  the  slightest  occasion,  so 
that  maternal  checks  were  constantly  in  requisition.  Indeed, 
Mrs.  Barclay  was  often  assailed  with  the  fear  that  the  affec- 
tions of  her  daughter  might  become  estranged  from  her  by 
the  obligation  imposed  upon  her  of  constantly  quelling  the 
ebullitions  of  sensibility  and  high  spirit  developed  by  her 
child.  But  no  such  calamitous  result  seemed  to  accrue. 
Kate  Barclay  received  her  mother's  admonitory  counsels, 
offered  as  they  were,  gently,  tenderly,  with  profound  re- 
spect and  obedience,  and  just  so  long  as  she  remembered 
them  they  fully  answered  their  intended  good  purpose  ;  but 
the  difficulty  laid  in  their  being  very,  very  often  forgotten. 
She  was  penitence  itself  when  reminded  of  her  aberrations, 
and  always  hoped  she  might  amend,  but  never  could  be  per- 
suaded to  make  any  promises,  declaring  she  could  not  trust 
herself,  being  perfectly  convinced  of  her  own  weakness  and 
backwardness  in  well-doing.  Altogether  she  was  a  creature 
to  excite  constant  and  incessant  attention,  for  no  one  knew 
what  she  would  say  or  do,  and  an  outbreak  might  be  antici- 
pated at  any  moment. 

.Johnny  Barclay  was  her  favorite  companion  and  playmate, 
and  during  his  vacations  the  nursery  was  thronged  witli  his 
friends,  a  legion,  and  Kate  was  constituted  mistress  of  the 
revels,  all  their  sports  and  games  and  plans  emanating  from 
her.  She  openly  avowed  her  decided  preference  for  the 
society  of  boys,  and  thought  girls  excessively  tame  and  Hat, 
was  the  proprietor  of  a  sledge,  and  owned  a  pair  of  skates. 


58  THE    BARCLAYS 

Kate  Barclay's  life  was  April-hued,  sunshine  and  showers 
of  tears  ;  she  was  always  regretting  her  misdemeanors,  and 
committing  fresh  ones  ;  but  then  she  enjoyed  existence  with 
such  an  intense  zest,  and  entered  with  unbounded  delight 
and  enthusiasm  into  every  species  of  pleasure  ;  come  what 
would,  she  was  supremely  happy  for  the  nonce. 


OF    BOSTON.  59 


CHAPTER  VII. 


'  0,  liappiest  he  -whose  riper  years  retain 
The  hopes  of  youtli,  unsullied  by  a  stain  ! 
His  eve  of  life  in  calm  content  shall  glide 
Like  the  still  streamlet  to  the  ocean  tide.' 

J.  T.  Fields. 

It  has  already  been  narrated  that  Mr.  John  Barclay  had, 
at  a  very  early  period  of  his  life,  accumulated  a  large  fortune 
by  prosperous  commercial  enterprise,  which  he  firmly  re- 
solved to  enjoy;  and,  as  he  could  have  no  pleasure  in  any 
thing  unshared  with  his  fellow-creatures,  it  naturally  followed 
that  many  hearts  were  gladdened  by  his  prosperity.  He 
purchased  a  quantity  of  land  and  built  for  himself  a  most 
comfortable  dwelling,  and,  at  the  same  time,  laid  out  a 
pretty  square,  and  filled  it  with  excellent  houses,  which  he 
rented  to  his  friends,  and  thus  had  a  small  colony  of  pleasant 
persons  around  him,  with  whom  he  lived  in  great  harmony, 
and  the  most  genial,  social  intercourse,  as  far  as  his  own 
efforts  could  avail  towards  producing  such  a  desired  result. 

Mr,  Barclay  was  a  good  neighbor,  in  the  full  acceptation  of 
the  term,  and  was  old-fashioned  enough  in  his  views  to  take 
a  proper  pride  in  being  so  designated ;  he  always  declared 
that,  as  every  one  worked  in  America,  no  man  could  be  at 
leisure  in  the  mornings,  but  his  evenings  might,  with  great 
profit  and  satisfaction  to  himself  and  others,  be  given  to  his 
family  and  friends.  From  the  first  days  of  their  marriage, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barclay  were  always  at  home  in  the  evening. 


60  THE    BARCLAYS 

cheerful  and  happy,  and  delighted  to  see  pleasant  faces 
around  them.  This  being  perfectly  understood,  and,  also 
from  its  great  rarity,  extremely  appreciated,  there  was  no 
lack  of  visitors.  Indeed,  no  one  can  exaggerate  the  value 
of  such  a  house  as  theirs  had  always  been  in  a  community 
where  so  few  are  opened  in  the  same  way.  They  conferred 
a  great  social  blessing  on  many,  who,  having  no  ties  of 
kindred,  looked  upon  their  fireside  as  an  oasis  in  the  desert ; 
their  house  was,  also,  a  resource  for  strangers  ;  they  re- 
ceived all  the  notabilities  who  passed  through  the  city,  and 
thereby  derived  a  very  signal  advantage  from  foreign 
intercourse,  which  does  a  vast  deal,  in  America,  towards 
rubbing  off  the  rust  collected  by  describing,  diurnally,  the 
same  circle  of  opinions  and  feelings.  The  house  itself  was 
a  large,  square,  unpretending  bit  of  architecture,  built  more 
for  comfort  than  show ;  the  first  floor  contained  a  spacious 
dining-room,  and  a  small  office  where  Mr.  Barclay  received 
all  persons  who  came  on  business  errands.  The  hall  was 
large  and  spacious,  and  a  handsome  flight  of  stairs  led  to 
a  small  ante-room,  which  opened  into  a  charming  parlor 
fitted  up  with  great  taste  ;  the  furniture  graceful  and  solid, 
the  paper-hangings  and  draperies  all  undertoned  in  order 
to  bring  out  an  excellent  collection  of  pictures,  with  which 
the  walls  were  covered  ;  the  dining-room  and  hall  both 
being  decorated  in  the  same  manner.  These  pictures  were 
capital  copies  of  the  old  masters,  by  capable  hands  and 
originals  of  the  first  European  and  American  artists.  For 
talent  of  any  kind  Mr.  Barclay  had  a  thoroughly  appreciative 
and  kindly  spirit,  and  was  habitually  doing  all  that  laid  in 
his  power  to  foster  and  encourage  it,  his  house  being  the 
cherished  resort  of  his  countrymen,  who  ever  found  a 
gracious  welcome  in  it. 

This  above-described  apartment  opened  into  a  very  large 
and  commodious  library,  the  panelling  and  book-cases  of 
black  walnut,  the  shelves  of  the  latter  being  filled  with 
the  most  beautiful  editions  of  valuable  works,  unsurpassed 


OF    BOSTON.  61 

in  their  finish  of  type  and  binding;  the  owner  of  these 
treasures  always  declaring  that  in  them  centred  his  sole 
extravagance.  The  book-cases,  reaching  within  five  feet 
of  the  ceiling,  their  tops  were  covered  with  busts,  Spanish 
and  Chinese  jars,  old  armor,  and  weapons  of  various  kinds. 
Several  niches  in  the  library  contained  beautiful  pieces  of 
statuary,  and  its  furniture  abounding  in  lounges,  divans, 
sofas  and  easy  chairs,  was  pleasant  to  behold  ;  a  variety  of 
tables,  covered  with  books  and  engravings,  completed  the 
arrangement  of  this  delightful  room.  Large  plate-glass 
folding-doors  connected  the  library  with  a  conservatory  filled 
with  rare  plants,  and  even  shrubs,  at  the  end  of  which  was 
an  aviary  and  fountain.  These  three  rooms  laid  to  the 
south,  and  a  sort  of  midsummer  dreamland  was  thus  con- 
jured up,  even  in  the  aspect  of  a  northern  climate.  i\Irs. 
Barclay  was  extravagantly  fond  of  flowers,  and  devoted  much 
time  to  their  cultivation,  assisted  by  her  daughters ;  her  hus- 
band encouraged  this  taste  in  every  way  by  procuring  her 
every  rare  novelty  in  the  floral  kingdom. 

This  was  a  spot  in  which  happiness  might  seem  to 
dwell,  and  truly  did,  to  such  an  extent,  that  its  possessors, 
when  they  reflected  upon  the  manifold  blessings  they  enjoy- 
ed, declared  they  trembled  for  their  endurance.  There  are 
no  such  happy  persons  in  the  world  as  those  who  are 
constantly  contributing  to  the  well-being  of  others,  the 
absence  of  all  selfish  considerations  being  one  of  the  purest 
elements  of  a  well-spent  existence.  In  this  respect  the 
dwellers  in  this  home  were  beyond  reproach.  Every  thing 
was  in  daily  use  in  Mrs.  Barclay's  home ;  she  had  no  one 
article  of  table  equipage  that  was  better  than  another,  and 
this  saved  a  world  of  trouble,  time  and  temper,  the  two  latter 
of  dominant  importance  in  all  households  ;  for,  if  there  is  a 
bit  of  porcelain  that  excels  another,  it  is  sure  never  to  be 
forthcoming,  in  an  American  establishment,  when  it  is  most 
required.  Her  dinners  were  excellent,  and  served  unpre- 
tendingly, she  having  no  desire  to  ape  foreign  fashions  with 
6 


62  '       THE    BARCLAYS 

a  few  servants,  and  to  adopt  the  affectation  of  forcing  three 
waiters  to  perform  the  service  of  thirty.  If  any  short- 
comings occurred,  they  were  never  perceived,  or  commented 
upon,  simply  because  there  was  no  ostentatious  pretension. 

Mr.  Barclay,  being  eminently  hospitable,  invited  his 
friends  freely ;  his  wife  gave  them  a  gracious  welcome,  and 
he  a  hearty  one  ;  and  their  guests  were  not  confined  to  the 
prosperous  and  those  who  revelled  in  luxuries,  but  embraced 
poor  scholars,  artists  and  others,  to  whom  a  well  appointed 
repast  was  a  boon  indeed,  and  the  charm  of  social  inter- 
course, a  greater  one  still.  Mr.  Barclay's  was  no  debtor 
and  creditor  account  with  feasts  ;  he  disliked  dining  out, 
and  avoided  as  much  as  possible  all  formal  entertainments. 

Mr.  Barclay,  from  early  habit,  rose  at  daybreak,  made  his 
own  fire,  and  read  a  couple  of  hours  before  breakfast,  but 
was  in  nowise  bigoted  as  to  the  observance  of  this  rule  by 
the  rest  of  his  family ;  he  had  seen  so  much  positive  discom- 
fort produced  by  the  rigid  enforcement  of  over-early  rising 
amongst  his  friends,  that  he  resolved  not  to  be  too  strict  in 
his  own  regulations.  It  was  sufficient  for  him  that  his  family 
was  punctual  at  dinner,  and  probably  there  never  was  one 
more  regular  in  attendance  at  morning  prayers  and  repasts 
than  his.  Flis  breakfast  finished,  he  went  to  his  office,  and 
remained  until  two  o'clock,  rode  or  walked  a  few  hours,  and 
dined  at  five.  Of  his  brother,  Mr.  Richard,  he  saw  very 
little  in  the  morning,  but  looked  forward  with  great  pleasure 
to  his  appearance  at  his  fireside  in  the  evening.  The  con- 
trast between  the  two  brothers  was  indeed  remarkable,  the 
one  so  handsome,  the  other  so  ugly  ;  Mr.  John's  manners  so 
pleasing,  Mr.  Richard's  exactly  the  reverse  ;  the  one  looking 
at  the  world  through  rose-colored  spectacles,  the  other 
through  darkest  green  ;  Mr.  John  contented,  Mr.  Richard 
discontented,  —  and  yet  how  they  loved  each  other  !  Knitted 
together  by  the  most  tender  ties,  they  lived  most  harmo- 
niously, despite  the  great  difference  in  their  characters.  Mr. 
Richard  positively  adored  his  brother  and  all  his  belongings. 


OF    BOSTON.  63 

and  even  looked  upon  John's  dog  with -a  more  gracious 
aspect  than  he  regarded  many  human  beings.  There  was, 
however,  a  certain  indefinable  fascination  about  this  grum- 
bler, and  even  his  ugliness  was  quite  irresistible.  If  there  is 
no  such  phrase  as  a  handsome-ugly  person,  there  should  be 
one  manufactured,  for  such  was  he.  His  grumbling  was 
ever  amusing  from  its  variety  of  subject,  and  his  very  inef- 
fectual attempts  at  keeping  out  of  sight  the  sensibility  which 
he  was  ever  endeavoring  to  conceal,  were  interesting,  and 
perpetually  demanding  the  attention  of  his  friends.  If  Mr. 
Richard  was  absent  from  his  brother's  house  for  a  day,  the 
family  lamented  his  non-appearance,  and  even  the  guests 
could  hardly  dispense  with  his  presence,  he  being  their 
sauce  piquante. 

A  certain  Mrs.  Ashley  was  his  pet  dislike,  the  children's 
ball-giving  friend.  On  this  lady,  a  very  pretty,  well-dressed 
and  pleasing  person,  by  the  bye,  Mr.  Richard  lavished  a  vast 
deal  of  criticism  when  she  was  present  and  when  she  was 
not.  The  lady,  being  very  amiable,  seemed  totally  to  disre- 
gard all  the  bachelor's  hints,  innuendoes  and  objurgations,  and 
paid  no  attention  whatever  to  them,  which  was  very  pro- 
voking indeed. 

Mr.  Richard  had  also  a  second  pet  dislike,  Miss  Serena 
Tid marsh,  who  did  not  bear  her  martyr's  crown  with  like 
equanimity,  and  repaid  him  with  many  a  cat-like  hit  in  a 
very  low-toned  voice,  but  none  the  less  stringent  for  that. 
She  was  a  neighbor  of  Mr.  Barclay's,  and  her  father  had 
been  an  old  friend  of  his. 

^Vith  ]\Iiss  Jane  Redmond,  another  neighbor,  Mr.  Richard 
was  always  at  daggers  drawn  ;  they  quarrelled  famously. 
She  was  an  overt  enemy,  unlike  her  dear  friend,  Miss  Se- 
rena ;  Jane  was  open-mouthed,  and  with  a  voice  in  alto 
answered  lier  opponent  fiercely,  and  gave  him  no  quarter. 
He  rather  liked  her  the  better  for  her  candor,  if  any  liking 
there  could  be  between  the  discordant  pair. 

The  evening  succeedino;  the  children's  ball  found  Mr. 


64  THE    BARCLAYS 

Barclay  in  his  beautiful  library  by  the  side  of  a  bright  fire, 
the  Dolly  on  his  knee  and  surrounded  by  his  family,  a  per- 
fect picture  of  content  and  happiness.  The  Dolly  was  told, 
every  day  of  her  life,  that  she  was  altogether  too  tall  and  too 
old  to  sit  on  her  father's  knee  ;  but  she  declared  that  there 
were  too  many  good  things  attached  to  the  position  of  '  baby 
of  the  family'  to  be  readily  renounced,  and  that,  until  he 
sent  her  away,  there  she  should  remain,  a  thing  he  was  very 
unlikely  to  do.  Georgy  and  Gracy  were  not  very  animated, 
the  ball  having  sadly  fatigued  them  ;  they,  however,  played 
a  duet  or  two  for  their  mother,  and  then  threw  themselves 
rather  listlessly  upon  a  sofa,  and  were  nearly  half  asleep 
when  they  were  aroused  by  the  entrance  of  Mrs.  Ashley. 
This  lady,  ever  bright  and  cheerful,  entered  into  a  pleasant 
chat  immediately,  inquiring  of  her  young  friends  how  they 
had  enjoyed  her  little  party. 

'Oh!'  answered  Gracy,  'immensely,  dear  aunty,  nothing 
was  ever  so  charming,  so  delightful ;  but  I  do  feel  so  very 
good  for  nothing  to-night.' 

'  The  natural  consequence  of  unnatural  dissipation,' 
sneered  Mr.  Richard. 

'You  cannot  propose,'  said  Mrs.  Ashley,  '  to  feel  as  bril- 
liant as  common,  my  dear  liule  girl  ;  you  danced  the  whole 
of  last  evening.' 

'  And  will  lose  the  whole  of  this,'  said  Mr.  Richard. 

'  Oh  no,  uncle  mine,  I  do  not  intend  to  do  any  such  thing, 
I  confess  to  feeling  a  tiny  bit  fatigued,  but  Mrs.  Ashley  will 
set  me  all  right,  as  she  always  does.' 

'  I  do  not  approve  of  children's  balls,'  said  Mr.  Richard. 

*  Nor  I,  either,'  said  Mrs.  Barclay,  '  but  iiiy  friend  here, 
with  her  all-persuasive  powers,  conquered  and  carried  off  my 
daughters,  and  it  appears  they  enjoyed  their  evening  heartily; 
it  had  all  the  charm  of  novelty  certainly.' 

'  Yes,'  said  the  Dolly,  '  ^Mary  Redmond  told  me  to-day  at 
school,  that  Jane  declared  that  Georgy  and  Grace  were  the 
little  queens  of  the  night,  but,  in  her  opinion,  they  never 


OF    BOSTON.  65 

looked  so  ill,  and  were  very  untastefuUy  dressed.  I  was 
dreadfully  angry  at  this,  and  told  her  that  her  sister  was 
always  saying  spiteful  and  disagreeable  things,  and  I  should 
like  to  know  what  was  a  dress  for  young  girls  if  white  book- 
muslin  were  not.  Upon  this  she  said  that  Jane  thought  me 
the  most  ugly  and  disagreeable  child  in  all  Christendom  ; 
upon  which  I  told  her  I  didn't  care  a  rush  for  herself  or  Jane 
either  ;  that  Jane  was  getting  quite  old,  and  never  having 
any  admirers,  was  jealous  of  every  one  that  had.' 

'  My  dear  child,'  exclaimed  Mrs.  Barclay,  '  pray  stop  such 
a  torrent  of  words  and  listen  to  me  ;  this  was  all  very  im- 
proper, indeed.  Have  I  not  enforced  upon  you,  time  and 
again,  that  you  must  never  indulge  in  personalities  of  any 
kind  ? ' 

'  Well,  dear  mother,  I  will  try  not  to  do  so,  but  you  must 
let  me  tell  you  the  whole.  I  should  hke  to  promise  solemnly 
that  I  would  never  again  reply  when  Mary  repeats  what  her 
hateful  sister,  —  oh,  dear  me  !  I  forgot,  —  I\Iiss  Jane  Redmond, 
says.  You  can't  think,  mother,  how  saucy  she  was.  Mary 
told  me,  besides,  that  I  was  an  impertinent  girl,  and  had  no 
manners,  which  was  easily  accounted  for,  as  my  mother 
always  kept  a  pet  bear  in  the  house.  Oh !  I  screamed,  What 
a  horrid  fib !  Why,  my  father  has  only  dear  old  Nero, 
Georgy  a  mocking-bird,  Gracy  a  canary,  I  a  kitten,  and 
Johnny  his  dandy  terrier ;  the  dogs  are  all  kept  in  the  stable, 
and  there  is  not  a  bear  in  the  house.  "  I  don't  care,"  said 
Mary,  "you  have  got  a  bear,  and  it's  your  uncle  Dick. 
Jane  heard  one  old  gentleman  at  table  to-day  call  him  so  ; 
another  said  he  was  Ursa  -Major,  and  another  Snarleyou, 
and  Jane  laughed  and  declared  his  motto  should  be  the 
Baron  of  Bradwardines,  '  Bewar  the  Bar.' "  Upon  this,  I 
was  in  a  perfect  fury,  boxed  Mary's  ears  soundly  for  calling 
my  dear,  dear  uncle  such  abominable  names,  and  was  shut 
up  in  a  dark  closet  two  hours,  with  a  horrid  big  mouse 
scampering  about  all  the  time,  because  I  would  not  confess 
I  was  sorry  for  what  I  had  done.' 


66  THE    BARCLAYS 

Having  completed  this  oration,  the  excited  young  creature 
burst  into  tears,  Mrs.  Barclay  begged  her  to  go  to  bed  and 
compose  herself,  and  just  as  she  was  preparing  to  obey 
her  mother,  Mr.  Richard  arose  and  tenderly  embraced  his 
champion. 

When  she  had  departed,  Mrs.  Barclay  avowed  that  she 
had,  for  a  long  time,  dubitated  as  to  the  expediency  of 
sending  Kate  to  a  daily  school.  She  was  entirely  different 
from  her  sisters,  being  remarkably  impulsive  and  veiy 
excitable,  and  the  event  of  this  evening  had  fortified  her 
in  her  half-formed  resolve  of  retaining  her  at  home  and 
procuring  a  governess  for  her.  She  had  perceived  no  ill 
effects  arising  from  the  course  she  had  pursued  with  her 
elder  daughters,  but  this  one  seemed  to  require  a  change. 

Uncle  Richard,  who  had  always  opposed  the  system  of 
sending  girls  to  daily  schools,  very  much  approved  of  this 
plan  ;  he  had  always  thought  that  his  nieces  should  be  shut 
up  precisely  as  were  the  children  in  France,  and  deprecated 
excessively  the  custom  of  allowing  them  '  to  run  about  the 
streets.' 

Mrs.  Barclay,  however,  had  satisfied  herself  as  to  the  ex- 
cellence of  the  schools  in  her  native  city,  and  resolved  that 
her  daughters  should  enjoy  their  attendant  advantages  ;  but 
in  the  case  of  the  Dolly,  she  perceived  that  another  ar- 
rangement might  be  tried  beneficially. 

Some  foreigners,  who  were  travelling  in  America  for  the 
purpose  of  examining,  amongst  other  things,  the  system  of 
the  public  schools,  were  just  then  announced,  and  a  very 
interesting  conversation  ensued,  in  which  they  gained  a  vast 
deal  of  information  from  their  host,  who  was  constantly 
applied  to  on  similar  occasions. 

There  was  a  great  charm  to  these  strangers  in  this  inter- 
course ;  they  there  beheld  an  American  family  assembled 
together  in  the  enjoyment  of  domestic  happiness,  and  not 
tricked  out  in  '  silk  attire,'  or  in  other  words,  company  dress 
and   manners.      They  seated   themselves  at  the   tea-table. 


OF    BOSTON.  67 

over  which  one  of  the  young  and  radiant  daughters  of  this 
household  presided,  with  unaffected  grace  and  modesty ;  and 
having  partaken  of  the  beverage  which  '  cheers  but  not  in- 
ebriates,' they  remained  several  hours  chatting  agreeably, 
and  departed,  rejoicing  in  having  been  permitted  to  see  the 
interior  of  at  least  one  family,  without  fuss  and  parade. 

Travellers  worth  knowing,  who  visit  this  country,  come 
usually  for  scientific  and  useful  purposes,  very  few  for 
pleasure ;  they  consequently  desire  to  see  the  inner  life  of 
the  Americans,  not  the  outward  and  infrequent  gala-show 
days  and  nights,  where  nothing  that  they  desire  to  learn  can 
be  gained. 


68  THE    BARCLAYS 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


'  Who  meets  us  here  ?  My  niece  Plantagenet, 
Led  in  the  hand  of  her  kind  aunt  of  Gloster.' 

SuAKSrE-illE. 

There  is  a  pleasant  custom  in  many  American  families 
of  adopting  Aunts.  Some  agreeable  person,  connected  with 
them  by  no  ties  of  blood,  is  selected  and  enacts  very  suc- 
cessfully her  part,  the  junior  members  always  making  the 
choice.  Mrs.  Fanny  Ashley  had  received  this  distinction 
at  the  hands  of  Mr.  Barclay's  children,  and  a  better  or 
more  tenderly  affectionate  relative  could  nowhere  have  been 
found. 

Mrs.  Ashley  had  been  a  very  pretty  little  girl,  and  became 
a  very  pretty  young  woman  ;  she  was  really  so,  hair,  eyes, 
teeth,  figure  and  face  all  pretty  ;  and  moreover,  she  was  ex- 
ceedingly amiable. 

Somebody  of  '  man's  estate  '  had  said  of  her  that  she 
possessed  precisely  sense  enough  for  a  woman,  and  to  these 
attractive  belongings  was  added  a  fine  fortune. 

Now  all  these  pleasant  things  had,  naturally  enough,  ob- 
tained for  her  a  host  of  pretenders  to  her  favor,  and  the 
young  lady  certainly  surprised  immensely  all  her  friends 
and  admirers  when  she  bestowed  her  hand  upon  a  man 
almost  old  enough  to  be  her  own  father.  But  she  was  an 
orphan  and  her  own  mistress,  witii  no  one  to  enlighten  her 
respecting  the  inner  life  of  the  individual  she  had  thus  un- 
wisely chosen. 


OF    BOSTON.  69 

Mr.  Samuel  Ashley  was  excessively  handsome,  even  at 
an  age  when  the  fragility  of  such  a  possession  as  beauty  is 
decided  ;  he  had  travelled  much,  and  was  said  to  have  studied 
its  preservation  most  accurately  in  the  best  of  schools  for 
such  a  recondite  science.  Mr.  Ashley's  voice  was  captivat- 
ing ;  he  sang,  all  the  women  declared,  like  an  angel  ;  he 
waltzed  and  danced  incomparably,  entirely  heedless  of  the 
sarcasms  upon  his  juvenilities,  launched  forth  by  his  married 
contemporaries. 

This  gentleman  was  also  a  good  talker,  quoted  Byron  and 
sighed  forth  Moore's  songs  most  exquisitely,  and  had  a  splen- 
did establishment  and  great  wealth.  He  had  just  returned 
from  the  East,  when  he  beheld  for  the  first  time  the  pretty 
creature  whom  lie  wooed  and  won,  as  he  well  knew  how  to 
do.  They  were  married,  and  she  was  installed  in  his  beau- 
tiful house  to  find  herself  a  slave.  A  greater  tyrant  never 
existed  than  she  discovered  her  liege  lord  and  master  to  be- 
His  life  had  been  an  undivulged  secret :  the  gay,  fascinating, 
agreeable  Mr.  Ashley  proved  a  miserable  invalid,  existing 
only  by  the  perpetual  administering  of  opium,  disguised,  to 
be  sure,  under  other  names,  but  opium  ever. 

No  sooner  had  he  secured  his  prize,  than,  casting  aside 
all  concealment,  he  appeared  before  his  young  wife  what 
ho,  in  truth,  really  was,  — a  selfish  egotist,  vain,  cruel  and 
heartless,  and,  worse  than  all,  jealous.  The  green-eyed 
monster  had  never  eflected  a  more  perfect  lodgment  in 
any  man's  breast  than  his  :  whatever  his  experience  had 
been  in  life,  it  was  not  flattering  to  woman ;  he  had  no 
faith  in  her.  It  has  been  related  that  he  was  remarkably 
handsome.  But  who  can  picture  the  disgust  of  his  wife 
when  she,  who  had  thought  his  hyaeinthine  ringlets  the 
most  beautiful  ever  seen,  was  convinced,  by  ocular  demon- 
stration, that  they  were  put  in  curl  papers,  every  night, 
by  his  own  body-servant !  And  a  precious  task  had  the 
poor  fellow,  for  this  operation  was  but  the  commencement 
of  his  nocturnal  services.     This  one  act  alone  would  have 


70  THE    BARCLAYS 

sufficed  to  disabuse   the   most  enamored  of  wives,  which 
Mrs.  Ashley  was  not. 

It  is  true,  she  had  been  enthralled  ;  and  what  was  a  simple 
girl  to  do  when  an  experienced  and  perfect  actor  like  Mr, 
Ashley  had  resolved  to  win  her  ?  He  well  knew  how  to 
spread  his  net,  and  the  young  fledgling  was  soon  entangled 
in  its  meshes  ;  she  was  also  flattered  excessively  by  the  notice 
of  a  man  so  courted  and  followed.  His  slightest  laudatory 
mention  of  her,  the  first  time  he  saw  her,  quite  elevated  her 
in  the  scal'e  of  the  fashionable  circle  in  which  she  moved. 
He  pronounced  her  pretty,  very  pretty,  and  every  body  im- 
mediately voted  her  beautiful.  She  was  dazzled  and  bewil- 
dered by  his  attentions,  and  imagining  that  the  delusion  under 
which  she  labored  was  love,  she  cheerfully  consented  to 
place  her  destiny  in  his  hands. 

He  began  his  marital  career  by  commanding  her  to  abandon 
all  her  young  friends,  allowing  her  to  receive  them  only  in 
the  most  formal  manner  :  he  detested,  he  said,  silly  intimacies. 
Then  she  was  to  accept  invitations  only  in  certain  houses,  and 
those  most  rarely  ;  he  declared  his  own  health  to  be  so 
delicate  that  all  parties  in  the  evening  must  be  abandoned,  a 
grand  and  formal  dinner  being  the  only  amusement  per- 
mitted. She  might  sit  by  his  side,  if  she  liked,  when  he 
took  his  daily  exercise  in  a  close  carriage,  but,  as  to  '  running 
about  town,'  that  was  totally  inadmissible  ;  his  first  wife  had 
never  done  any  thing  of  the  sort.  So,  in  default  of  any 
thing  better,  poor  Mrs.  Ashley  entered  every  day,  at  one 
o'clock,  a  superb  equipage  and  dozed  through  a  drive  of  six 
miles,  never  more,  never  less,  over  the  self-same  road  with 
her  magnificent  liusband,  who  made  a  ])oint  of  never  open- 
ing his  lips.  For  why  should  he  attempt  being  agreeable,  or 
give  himself  any  trouble  for  his  wife  ?  A  little  sillv  bread- 
and-butter  girl  was  she  when  he  married  her,  with  nothing 
but  her  prettiness  and  fortune  to  recommend  her,  and  she 
must  consider  herself  to  have  climbed  to  the  very  apex  of 
human  felicity  when  he  honored  her  by  bestowing  uponher 


OF    BOSTON.  71 

his  great  name.  To  be  sure,  he  could  not  deny,  even  to 
himself,  that  he  had  been  obliged  to  exercise  rather  tiresome 
efforts  to  gain  this  young  thing,  but  now  he  was  making 
amends  for  the  constraint  he  had  been  forced  to  put  upon 
himself. 

A  wearisome  life  was  hers,  and  she  was  fast  losing  her 
spirits  and  health,  when  death  released  her  from  her  bondage  ; 
and,  from  being  the  nurse  of  a  worn-out  voluptuary,  she 
emerged,  after  a  decent  period  of  retirement,  into  the  con- 
solatory condition  of  an  immensely  rich  widow,  with  renew- 
ed health  and  spirits,  and  a  firm  resolve  that,  if  she  were 
ever  weak  enough  to  contract  another  marriage,  it  should  be 
with  the  ugliest  and  worst-mannered  man  in  Christendom. 

The  first  person  she  sought  was  Mrs.  Barclay.  '  My 
dear  Kate,'  said  she,  *  I  hope  you  have  not,  for  a  moment, 
imagined  I  love  you  the  less  for  not  seeing  you ;  my  duties 
of  nurse  have  been  so  arduous,  that  no  time  have  I  had  for 
the  cultivation  of  friendship,  or  even  acquaintance.  Now  I 
return  to  beg  and  conjure  you  to  accord  me  my  old  place  in 
your  affections,  and  to  allow  me  the  blessed  privilege  of 
coming  here  when  I  please.'  Mrs.  Barclay,  embracing  her 
cordially,  entreated  her  to  return  to  her  old  haunts,  and 
sincerely  assured  her  that  the  more  she  frequented  her  house, 
the  better  would  her  husband  and  herself  like  and  love  her. 
Mrs.  Ashley,  enchanted  by  the  warmth  of  her  friend's  wel- 
come, availed  herself  of  this  gracious  permission,  and  haunt- 
ed, as  she  persisted  in  asserting,  the  dwelling  where  her 
warmest  aflfections  centred.  The  whole  family  were  delight- 
ed with  the  gay  and  pleasant  person  who  conferred  so  much 
of  her  time  upon  them,  and  soon  adopted  her  as  the  aunt  of 
their  decided  predilections. 

Mr.  Richard  Barclay's  pardon  must  be  entreated  for  not 
excepting  him  in  the  list  of  the  fair  widow's  admirers  :  he 
literally  hated  her,  and  often  declared  she  was  the  only  draw- 
back in  his  brother's  house.  *  How  they  could  like  her,  he 
knew  not,  a  silly  flaunting  thing  ;  delighted  to   be  rid   of 


72  THE    BARCLAYS 

her  husband,  and  run  wild  !  Dress  and  parties,  parties  and 
dress,  nothing  else  ;  her  toilettes  were  exquisite  he  was  willing 
to  concede,  but  then  the  time  she  devoted  to  them  !  What 
could  John  and  his  wife  find  in  such  a  woman  as  that  ?  Not 
an  idea  ;  he  abhorred  even  the  sound  of  her  voice.'  And  so 
he  grumbled  and  railed  at  his  enemy,  as  he  called  her.  Now, 
this  was  not  at  all  true  ;  Mrs.  Ashley  could  be  no  one's  enemy, 
not  even  Mr.  Richard's  ;  she  simply  thought  he  was  particular- 
ly rude  ever  to  her,  but  then  he  was  the  brother  of  the  per- 
sons she  most  loved  on  earth,  and  she  must  bear  with  his  odd 
and  disagreablc  ways  for  their  sake.  Had  Mrs.  Ashley  been 
asked  who  was  the  man  she  most  disliked  in  the  world,  she 
would  have  promptly  answered,  Mr.  Richard  Barclay.  Under 
the  circumstances,  she  neither  betrayed  nor  concealed  her 
feelings,  but]  avoided  any  intercourse  with  the  '  bear,'  other 
than  what  was  really  inevitable. 

This  state  of  things  would  have  been  very  disagreable  to 
the  friends  of  the  parties,  but  for  the  exquisite  tact  of  the 
lady  ;  and  nothing  could  have  been  better  than  her  treatment 
of  Mr.  Richard's  case,  for  a  case  it  was  requiring  skilful 
hands  to  manage.  In  vain  Mr.  Barclay  remonstrated  with 
his  brother  on  the  extraordinary  dislike  he  had  taken  to  his 
pretty  and  pleasing  friend  ;  but  the  'bear's'  prejudices  were 
altogether  too  deeply  rooted  for  any  efforts  he  could  make  to 
eradicate  them,  so  he  renounced  all  hope  of  effecting  an 
amicable  arrangement  between  them. 

Mrs.  Barclay  was  devotedly  attached  to  Mrs.  Ashley.  The 
little  estrangement  jwhich  had  occurred,  she  well  knew  arose 
from  no  want  of  affection  on  the  part  of  her  friend,  but  the 
tyranny  of  her  husband  ;  and  she  was  delighted  at  the  frank 
and  loyal  manner  in  which  the  amiable  and  affectionately 
attached  woman  had  returned  to  her  allegiance,  and  resumed 
all  the  pleasant  routine  of  bye-past  days.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
interregnum  had  but  increased  their  love  for  each  other  :  she 
lamented  her  brother's  whims,  and  would  gladly  have  recon- 
ciled the  two  persons  she  so  well  loved. 


OF    BOSTON.  73 

On  Mrs.  Ashley's  reappearance  amidst  her  friends,  several 
of  her  followers  began  to  appear  also  ;  the  one  who  made  him- 
self the  most  conspicuous  was  Mr.  Naseby.  This  gentleman 
had  been  rather  slightingly  treated  by  dame  Nature  in  every 
thing,  but,  as  it  very  often  occurs  in  such  cases,  the  non- 
recipient  takes  it  into  his  head  that  he  has  been  bountifully 
supplied  with  all  her  gifts.  Mr.  Naseby  was  perfectly  con- 
fident that  he  was  a  charming  poet,  a  delightful  singer,  that 
he  danced  well,  rode  well,  and  gobbled  up  hearts.  To  be 
sure,  it  did  seem  extraordinary  that  he  had  not  been  dis- 
abused of  some  of  these  illusions  by  the  infinite  variety  of 
rebuffs  he  was  perpetually  receiving.  Mrs.  Ashley  had 
refused  him  a  dozen  times,  but  he  always  returned  to  the 
charge  with  renewed  vigor,  and  continued  to  haunt  her  steps 
wherever  she  went.  She  declared  he  was  as  blind  as  a  bat  to 
his  own  imperfections,  and  that  there  was  no  way  of  knocking 
his  conceit  out  of  him. 

And  he  was  blind,  indeed,  for  such  near-sightedness  as  had 
fallen  on  this  unfortunate  man  no  one  had  ever  beheld  ;  the 
mistakes  and  blunders  he  committed,  touching  the  identity 
of  all  objects  animate  and  inanimate,  were  indescribably 
ludicrous.  Although  sighing  at  the  feet  of  Mrs.  Ashley,  Mr. 
Naseby  was  not  deterred,  by  the  passionate  nature  of  his 
attachment,  from  distributing  a  few  favors,  in  the  shape  of 
verses,  flowers  and  love-tokens  in  other  quarters  ;  in  fact,  he 
was  a  victim  to  the  fair  sex,  and  met  with  a  most  ungrateful 
return.  His  appearance  amongst  the  young  girls,  —  he  being 
no  middle  man,  and  ever  meandering  between  widows  and 
juvenilities,  — was  the  signal  of  instant  flight,  for  besides  the 
soft  nothings  he  poured  into  their  all-revolting  ears,  he 
was  a  perfect  terror  to  them  in  the  matter  of  their  toilettes. 
Myopia  was  centred  in  him :  he  upset  cups  of  chocolate 
over  rose-colored  tissues,  put  his  big  feet  into  superb  blonde 
flounces,  fell  sprawling  into  the  ranks  of  the  waltzers,  and 
breathed  into  the  ears  of  one  divinity  precisely  what  was 
intended  for  another.  Then  his  two  arch-angels  com- 
7 


74  THE    BARCLAYS 

paring  notes,  vowed  vengeance  against  him  for  ever  and 
aye  ;  and  altogether  the  '  Cupidon,'  as  the  young  tits  called 
him,  led  rather  a  troublous  existence. 

Mrs.  Ashley  sometimes  flattered  herself  that  he  had  en- 
tirely deserted  her  for  some  VVill-o'-the-Wisp  of  sixteen,  but 
no  such  good  fortune  awaited  her;  a  short  respite  ensued, 
and  lo  !  Mr.  Naseby  made  his  return  known  to  the  lady  of 
his  love  by  breaking  her  invaluable  Spanish  fan,  upsetting  a 
Buhl  tripod  with  a  marble  bust  of  Petrarch's  Laura  upon  it, 
the  nose  of  the  immortal  wife,  and  mother  of  eleven  chil- 
dren being  destroyed  thereby  ;  or  giving  Bobby,  the  mocking- 
bird, such  a  big  worm  that,  choking  and  strangling,  he  gave 
up  the  ghost  entirely.  The  last  offence,  one  of  a  thousand, 
the  fair  widow  could  not  forgive,  for  Bobby  had  been  taught 
all  manner  of  touchingly  interesting  feats,  had  flown  away 
seven  times,  and  cost  her  ten  dollars  for  every  restoration  to 
his  home  and  perch,  besides  the  original  outlay  of  a  hundred. 
'  What  shall  I  do  to  rid  myself  of  that  incubus,  Mr. 
Naseby  ? '  said  Mrs.  Ashley  to  Mrs.  Barclay. 

'  You  must  not  make  yourself  so  agreeable  to  him,' 
replied  the  lady. 

'  Oh,  he  is  insufferable  !  I  have  treated  him  in  the  most 
shocking  manner,  especially  after  poor  Bobby's  death  :  did 
you  ever  hear  of  any  thing  so  abominable  ?  I  have  but  one 
hope  left,  and  that  is,  in  the  transcendent  beauty  of  your 
daughters  he  will  be  oblivious  of  what  he  is  pleased  to  call 
my  perfectibilities.' 

'  To  tell  you  the  truth,  my  dear  friend,  I  hav-e  lately  had 
a  suspicion  that  he  has  begun  to  turn  his  gooseberry  eyes  in 
that  quarter.' 

'  I  could  embrace  you  with  all  my  heart  for  the  good 
news,'  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ashley. 

And  so  it  was,  the  inconstant !  He  had  actually  prome- 
naded his  regards,  as  the  French  say,  on  the  two  opening 
beauties,  but,  unfortunately,  could  never  distinguish  one 
sister  from  the  other.     He  had  proposed  to  pay  his  devoirs 


OF   BOSTON.  75 

to  the  youngest,  Miss  Grace ;  but  to  persons  in  the  full  en- 
joyment of  their  eyesight  the  resemblance  was  puzzling 
beyond  description,  then  what  must  it  have  been  to  the  par- 
cel-blind Mr.  Naseby  ! 

Georgy  and  Grace  Barclay  had  long  desired  to  inform 
Mrs.  Ashley  of  the  partial  defection  of  her  recreant  swain, 
but  dared  not  take  the  liberty.  On  Mrs.  Barclay's  hint  Mrs. 
Ashley  spake,  and  then  such  an  amusing  revelation  as 
ensued !  Georgy  had  innumerable  protestations  to  record 
for  her  sister,  and  Grace,  the  beloved  one,  comparatively 
none  at  all.  Copies  of  verses  addressed  to  the  divine  Miss 
Grace  Barclay  had  been  mysteriously  left  at  the  door  by 
small  boys,  bouquets,  countless  in  number,  and  a  pair  of 
turtle-doves. 

The  sisters  had  made  a  compact  never  to  enlighten  the 
adorer  touching  their  identity,  and  Georgy  enjoyed  the 
joke  immensely  of  repeating  Mr.  Naseby's  platitudes  to  her 
sister. 

'  The  wicked  young  things  ! '  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ashley, 
when  she  heard  this  recital  of  adventures ;  '  but  the  silly 
fellow  richly  deserves  all  the  sad  tricks  they  have  played 
upon  him  ;  at  any  rate,  I  shall  be  rid  of  his  presence  at  my 
house  for  a  while.' 

But  this  was  a  sad  mistake  of  the  fair  widow's.  Mr. 
Naseby  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  abandoning  Mrs. 
Ashley.  He  admired  her  excessively,  found  her  house 
extremely  agreeable,  her  dinners  well  appointed  and  excel- 
lent ;  and  what  mattered  it  to  him  that  she  had  positively 
declined  his  matrimonial  proffers  half  a  dozen  times  ?  He 
was  quite  accustomed  to  such  proceedings;  refusals  were  not 
'  few  and  far  between  '  in  the  annals  of  his  life  ?  It  would 
have  been  well  for  him  if  he  could  have,  for  once,  summed 
up  all  his  reminiscences  of  the  various  defeats  he  had 
encountered,  and  learned  a  lesson  of  forbearance  and  hu- 
mility. 


76  THE    BARCLAYS 


CHAPTER    IX, 


'  If  she  undervalue  me, 
What  care  I  how  fair  she  be.' 

SiE  Walter  Raleigh. 


Years  had  rolled  away,  and  time  had  passed  sadly  and 
slowly  enough  to  Mrs.  Sanderson.  Hers  was  a  monotonous 
life  indeed ;  friendless  and  alone,  she  felt  the  deprivation  of 
social  intercourse  severely,  but  possessed  not  sufficient  cour- 
age or  energy  to  make  any  exertion.  Gerald  had  left  the 
Latin  school  with  honors,  and  had  formed  a  plan  and  was 
carrying  it  through  efficiently,  to  pursue  the  same  course 
of  studies  at  home  that  he  should  liave  done  could  he  have 
effected  his  cherished  purpose  of  entering  Harvard  Univer- 
sity.    To  this  he  sedulously  applied  himself. 

Charley  had  received  a  good  mercantile  education,  to 
which  had  been  added  French  and  Spanish,  his  mother 
having  taught  him  drawing  and  music,  besides  constantly 
reviewing  his  studies.  At  sixteen  he  had  been  placed  in  a 
commercial  house,  in  which  he  had  conducted  himself  ad- 
mirably ;  he  had  reached  his  eighteenth  year,  and  was 
ardendy  wishing  to  do  something  for  himself  in  order  that 
he  might  no  longer  be  a  burthen  to  his  mother,  when,  most 
fortunately  for  him,  he  accidentally  made  the  acquaintance 
of  Mr.  Barclay.  The  gentleman  was  attracted  by  the 
energy  and  industiy  of  the  youth,  having  seen  him  con- 
stantly at  work  ;  and  when  their  further  intercourse  devel- 
oped all  the  pleasing  and  excellent  qualities  of  the  young 
orphan,  when  he  found  that,  to  a  high  sense  of  honor  and 
probity  in  Charley  Sanderson,  was  added  the  most  fascinat- 


OF    BOSTON.  77 

ingly  cheerful  manners  and  pleasing  accomplishments,  he 
quite  cultivated  the  society  of  a  creature  so  gifted  by 
nature. 

Mr.  Barclay  had  known  Charley's  father,  and  would  wil- 
lingly have  paid  his  mother  many  delicate  attentions,  but 
she  was  so  entrenched  behind  the  barricade  raised  by  her 
brother,  Mr.  Egerton,  that  he  had  always  considered  her 
completely  unapproachable.  This  good  man,  truly  the 
orphan's  friend,  had  felt  some  regret,  when  he  first  began  to 
discern  Charley's  attractions,  that  he  had  rather  neglected 
these  boys,  and  made  all  the  amends  in  his  power  by 
inviting  them  to  his  house.  Charley,  of  course,  was  per- 
fectly enchanted  to  accept  any  proffers  of  hospitality  from 
such  a  distinguished  quarter ;  but  Gerald,  whose  shyness 
and  studious  and  dreamy  habits  had,  by  that  time,  become 
unconquerable,  resolutely  refused  all  overtures  for  social 
intercourse.  In  vain  his  brother  raved  of  the  beauty  and 
amiability  of  the  sisters,  the  benevolence  and  graciousness 
of  their  parents,  the  fascinations  and  attractions  of  all  the 
surroundings  of  this  family ;  Gerald  obstinately  persisted  in 
remaining  at  home,  seeing  no  one  but  his  mother  and  uncle, 
and  hardly  ever  getting  beyond  the  bounds  of  the  garden 
walls.  Indeed,  there  he  took  all  his  exercise,  his  mother 
usually  walking  with  him  ;  otherwise,  his  rounds  would  have 
been  truly  solitary ;  the  rest  of  his  time  was  given  exclu- 
sively to  hard  work,  which  seemed  to  be  his  only  pleasure 
with  the  exception  of  music ;  he  played  on  the  guitar 
admirably,  and  sang  in  a  masterly  style.  His  mother  had 
greatly  encouraged  this  taste,  as  it  was  the  only  recreation 
he  permitted  himself  to  enjoy  ;  she  much  lamented  the 
seclusion  of  her  son,  but,  as  she  often  said,  what  could  she 
do  ?  Her  own  means  of  promoting  the  happiness  of  her 
darling  children  were  so  small,  that  all  she  could  bestow  was 
an  unlimited  acquiescence  in  their  pursuits,  for  other  gifts 
she  was  powerless ;  and  feeling  herself  so  powerless  she 
could   not   gather  sufficient   courage   to   remonstrate   with 


78  THE    BARCLAYS 

Gerald  on  his  solitariness.  It  is  true  that  Mrs.  Sanderson 
was  not  far-sighted  as  to  the  evil  consequences  which  would 
infaUibly  ensue  from  such  a  course  of  life,  its  egotism  alone 
being  the  rock  upon  which  his  whole  being  might  be 
shipwrecked.  Again,  if  by  any  chance,  her  son  should  be 
deprived  of  Charley,  his  ignorance  of  the  commonest  world- 
ly transactions  being  deplorable,  how  was  he  to  guide  or 
govern  himself?  This  question  she  had  not  asked  herself; 
she  had  seen  so  much  trouble,  and  the  dullness  of  her 
career  had  been  so  stupefying,  that  it  had  partially  obscured 
her  susceptibility  to  coming  events,  and  she  appeared  to 
have  settled  down  into  the  conviction  that  sufficient  for  the 
day  was  the  evil  thereof. 

Certainly  Charley  did  his  best  to  push  Gerald  out  into  the 
world,  sometimes  trying  coaxing,  and  sometimes  scolding ; 
at  the  latter  he  was,  however,  no  great  adept ;  but  if  he  did 
not  succeed  in  efTccting  his  purpose  in  the  gairish  light  of 
day,  he  now  and  then  prevailed  at  night.  By  dint  of  great 
persuasion  Gerald  would  steal  forth  at  midnight  for  an  hour 
to  bestow  a  serenade  upon  the  sisters  whom  his  brother  so 
rapturously  admired,  and  this  to  Charley  was  an  immense 
boon  ;  they  sang  dcliciously  together,  their  voices,  from  long 
practice,  mingling  most  harmoniously.  Charley,  when 
charged  with  the  pleasant  fact  of  having  trolled  a  love  ditty 
beneath  his  lady's  window  by  the  young  beauties,  ahvavs 
frankly  avowed  his  participation  in  the  duo,  but  awarded 
to  his  brother  all  the  praises  bestowed  upon  the  perform- 
ance. 

Gracy  had  experienced  an  intense  desire  to  see  Gerald, 
and  often  begged  his  brother  to  urge  him  to  accept  her 
father's  invitation  ;  but  he  declared  Gerald  to  be  an  inexora- 
ble fellow,  nothing  could  be  done  with  him,  he  declared,  he 
was  so  obstinately  bent  upon  living  at  home  and  nowhere 
else  ;  for,  said  he,  '  Gerald  will  not  even  serenade  you  and 
your  sister  when  the  moon  is  at  its  full,  because  he  is  fearful 
you  might  peep  out  and  get  a  chance  look  at  him.' 


OF     BOSTON.  79 

'  Oh,'  said  Gracy,  *  I  do  not  believe  any  young  gentleman 
who  takes  so  much  pains  to  hide  himself  is  worth  looking  at 
at  all.     Is  he  deformed  ?  ' 

'  Deformed  ! '  almost  shrieked  Charley,  '  why  he  is  the 
handsomest  fellow  I  ever  saw  in  my  life,  nothing  can  surpass 
his  beauty  ;  such  a  romantic  air  and  manner,  you  never  be- 
held the  like,  Miss  Gracy.' 

'  Does  he  wear  a  minsti'el's  cloak,  or  a  brigand's  hat .? ' 

'  Now  you  are  mocking  at  Gerald.' 

'  Well,  well,  I'll  not  say  another  word  about  him,  but  only 
ask  does  he  go  to  church  ? ' 

'  He  does  not,  but  devotes  all  Sunday  to  religious  exer- 
cises ;   he  is  very  devout.' 

By  the  question  '  Does  he  go  to  church,'  Miss  Gracy  inno- 
cently revealed  a  little  project  of  seeing  Charley's  strange 
brother,  of  whom  wonderful  stories  were  floating  amongst 
the  young  people,  his  great  learning,  his  application  and 
total  seclusion  being  considered  quite  mysterious.  The 
answer  put  to  flight  her  plan  of  stealing  a  look  at  him.  She 
renewed  the  subject  with  Georg}^  by  asking  her  how  she 
supposed  Gerald  Sanderson  looked. 

'Not  like  other  people  at  all,  I  imagine,'  replied  her  sister; 
'  it  is  said  he  is  a  very  remarkably  handsome  person,  very 
poetical  and  visionary,  I  am  told  that  an  artist,  who  by 
chance  saw  him,  has  been  trying  these  last  six  months  to 
induce  him  to  sit  to  him,  but  he  cannot  be  persuaded  to  do 
so  ;  he  may  relent,  and  then,  you  know,  you  can  see  the 
picture,  as  you  seem  to  be  so  curiously  inclined.' 

'I  shall  never  like  him,'  said  Gracy,  '  half  as  well  as 
Charley,  if  he  is  as  handsome  as  the  Apollo  Belvidere.' 

'  I  dare  say  not,  for  Charley  seems  to  be  the  reigning 
favorite  with  you,  Gracy.' 

'  I  frankly  confess  he  is.  I  never  saw  such  a  loyal, 
charming  tempered,  gay  creature  in  my  life.  How  he 
adores  us  all.' 

'  Loves,  you  mean  ;  the  adoration  is  all  for  a  certain  Miss 


80  THE     BARCLAYS 

Grace  Barclay.  Time  was  when  he  paid  his  devoirs  to  me, 
but  you  have  supplanted  me  entirely  in  his  affections,' 

*  And  surely  you  had  no  claim  on  his  affections,  for  you 
are,  and  always  have  been,  perfectly  indifferent  to  him.' 

'  I  agree  with  you  cordially  in  your  estimate  of  Charley's 
good  qualities,  and  I  really  do  love  him,  but  as  a  brother 
only.' 

And  true  it  was,  that  the  youthful  swain  had  at  last 
settled  down  into  a  state  of  perfect  adoration  of  Miss  Grace 
Barclay.  This  revolution  in  the  tenderness  of  his  feelings 
had  been  brought  about  by  the  continuous  indifference  of 
Miss  Georgy,  and  Charley  had  turned  to  another  luminary ; 
it  was  also  true,  that  during  the  period  he  wore  the  elder 
sister's  chains,  he  frequently  mistook  the  one  for  the  other, 
a  circumstance  that  often  occurred  to  many  persons  besides 
himself.  But,  he  soon  began  to  feel,  if  he  did  not  see,  that 
there  was  one  who  might  smile  upon  him,  if  the  other  would 
not ;  and  accordingly  as  he  had  never  been  perfectly  con- 
firmed in  his  true  faith,  he  abandoned  the  old  shrine  and 
worshipped  at  the  new.  And  then  a  long  adieu  to  mistakes ; 
none  were  made,  and  Charley  became  the  most  constant  and 
devoted  of  all  true  knights. 

Just  after  Mrs.  Ashley's  ball  Grace  caught  a  bad  cold, 
which  seemed  to  threaten  her  lungs.  This  sadly  alarming 
her  parents,  they  consulted  their  medical  man,  and  he 
recommended  that  she  should  be  shut  up  in  the  house  all 
winter,  the  temperature  of  which  he  declared  to  be  quite 
equable,  and,  as  he  did  not  think  change  of  climate  re- 
quisite, she  remained  at  home,  and  took  her  lessons  from 
private  masters. 

Georgy  went  to  her  daily  school,  as  usual.  She,  at  first, 
lamented  the  precautionary  measures  adopted  for  the  res- 
toration of  her  sister's  health,  but,  in  the  end,  seemed  re- 
conciled, and  went  forth  cheerfully  as  usual.  To  Gracy, 
this  was  a  terrible  disappointment ;  she  missed  her  sister, 
her  classes,  her  kind  teachers,  and  it  could  not  be  said  that 


OF     BOSTON.  81 

she  bore  her  deprivation  with  like  equanimity.  She  de- 
clared she  could  learn  nothing  well  without  Georgy  ;  her 
sister  assisted  her  so  much  in  her  lessons,  was  so  much 
more  intelligent  and  clever,  and,  in  fact,  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life,  was  thoroughly  discontented.  This  mood  was  not 
of  long  endurance ;  her  better  nature  triumphed,  as  her 
mother,  remonstrating,  begged  her  to  remember  the  bless- 
ings with  which  she  was  surrounded,  and  made  her  fully 
aware,  and  also  confess,  how  improper  and  unbecoming, 
and  even  wicked,  were  these  repinings,  counselling  her  to 
childlike  submission,  and  praying  that  the  cup  might  pass 
away.  It  did,  and  the  spring  saw  her  restored  to  perfect 
health. 

About  spring-time,  a  good  chance  occurring,  Charley 
Sanderson,  under  the  patronage  of  Mr.  Barclay,  was  sent  to 
India.  The  fact  that  a  situation  could  be  procured  on  board 
an  excellent  vessel  with  a  sood  commander  beino;  made  known 
to  the  orphan's  friend,'  he  spoke  to  his  young  favorite,  and  dis- 
covered what  he  had  never  before  even  suspected,  that  the  boy 
was  penniless.  At  first,  he  could  be  hardly  made  to  compre- 
hend this,  having  ever  seen  this  young  creature  so  gay  and 
cheerful ;  he  had  never  surmised  that  he  was  enduring  all  sorts 
of  privations  ;  it  seemed  to  him  monstrous  that  with  an 
uncle,  rolling  in  wealth,  there  were  no  means  forthcoming, 
except  for  a  scanty  outfit,  and  that  even  this  resource  had 
been  hoarded,  in  the  most  economical  manner,  by  mother 
and  son.  Charley's  outburst  of  almost  frantic  grief,  when 
he  heard  of  the  project  and  acknowledged  his  inability  to 
accept  it,  was  heart-rending;  and,  as  Mr.  Barclay  subse- 
quently told  his  wife,  being  more  than  he  could  bear,  he 
had  advanced  a  few  thousands,  and  intended  to  send  him 
on  his  way  rejoicing. 

And  on  this  way  he  went,  blessing  and  praying  for  the 
welfare  of  his  benefactor,  every  day  of  his  life  ;  the  parting 
from  his  mother,  Gerald,  and  Grace,  was  very,  very  sad, 
but  then  it  was  illumined  with  the  prospect  of  a  prosperous 


82  THE    BARCLAYS 

voyage  and  speedy  return.  To  Mrs.  Sanderson,  the  sun 
shone  less  brightly  when  her  darling  departed ;  Gerald 
moped  and  missed  the  joyous  spirit  that  had  gladdened  his 
existence,  and  Peter  and  Dinah  groaned  and  sang  ballads, 
of  twenty-four  verses  each,  about  horrible  shipwrecks  and 
piratical  murders  in  the  Indian  seas,  that  were  frightful 
enough  to  make  one's  hair  stand  on  end.  '  He'd  nebber 
come  back  alive,'  they  both  declared. 

All  the  Barclays  missed  and  mourned  the  Charley,  he 
was  so  constantly  with  them,  and  such  a  bit  of  sunshine  ! 
it  seemed  hardly  possible  that  the  departure  of  one  such 
young  person  could  leave  so  large  a  space  unfilled.  And 
Grace  found  that  she  loved  him  with  all  her  heart ;  '  a  light 
that's  fled '  was  he  to  her.  She  had  been  utterly  uncon- 
scious of  the  nature  of  her  feelings  for  him,  until  the 
glittering  sail,  which  she  watched  from  her  own  window, 
had  sunk  below  the  horizon,  carrying  with  it  the  light  and 
life  of  her  existence.  And  many  a  time  and  oft  went  this 
young  creature  to  that  same  window,  to  watch  and  wait  the 
re-appearance  of  the  Indian  argosy  which  would  bring  back 
her  lover.  For  this  he  was,  though  no  one  word  of  troth 
had  ever  passed  her  lips  or  his,  but  they  had  vowed  them- 
selves to  each  other  in  the  depths  of  their  own  hearts ;  and 
this  absence  was  to  put  to  the  proof  their  constancy. 

It  appeared  also,  on  Charley's  flitting,  that  Mr.  Richard 
had  contrived  'to  like  the  boy  too  well,'  and  he  spared  'the 
old  miser'  not  a  whit  when  he  descanted  upon  the  impossi- 
bility of  living  with  such  a  good  fellow,  and  not  loving  him 
and  helping  him. 

'I  always  disliked  Philip  Egerton,'  cried  he,  'and  I  do 
so  now  all  the  more.  Why,  what  will  he  do  with  his  money  ? 
PIc  can't  carry  it  with  him,  of  that  he  must  be  sure;  and 
what  could  he  have  done  better  than  bestow  a  bag  of  the 
famous  unseen  gold  pieces  upon  that  dear  boy  ?  I  wish 
heartily  that  the  divining  rod  had  fished  them  up,  and  then 


OF    BOSTON.  83 

somebody  would  have  been  the  better  for  them.     Where  do 
you  suppose,  John,  they  are  ?' 

Mr.  Barclay  was  much  amazed  at  Mr.  Richard's  conde- 
scending, at  last,  to  ask  this  question,  when  he  had  criticised 
all  Boston  for  doing  the  same  thing. 

'  It  is  a  mooted  point,  Dick,'  replied  he,  '  where  they  are 
now.  He'll  found  an  Egerton  Hospital  or  College  with  them 
when  he  dies,  depend  upon  it.' 

'  And  defraud  his  rightful  heirs,'  said  Mr.  Richard. 

'  He  may  marry  yet,  Dick.' 

*  Who  on  earth  would  have  him,  John  ,''' 

'  Mrs.  Ashley,  perhaps.' 

'Oh!  John,  John,  how  can  you  say  so.?  she's  a  silly 
thing,  I  well  know,  but  not  quite  so  foolish  as  that.' 

'  I'm  delighted,  for  once,  to  have  caught  you  defending  my 
favorite  and  your  pet  dislike.  Miss  Serena,  then,  what  say 
you  to  her.?' 

'  I  give  her  up,  but  he'll  never  ask  her,  of  that  I  am  sure, 
and  am  just  as  certain  she  would  accept  him  if  he  did.' 

'  I  had  some  idea  of  writing  that  miserly  Philip  Egerton,' 
said  Mr.  Richard,  '  an  anonymous  letter,  just  to  let  him 
know  what  all  the  world  thinks  of  his  conduct ;  but,  as 
I  never  had  done  such  a  mean  thing  in  my  life,  I  was  quite 
sure  I  should  finish  by  signing  my  name  to  it.' 

'  Mr.  Egerton  is  so  supremely  indifferent  to  every  thing 
that  can  be  said  or  written  of  him,  Richard,  that  all  attacks, 
overt  or  otherwise,  would  fall  fruitless  to  the  ground.  I 
must  confess  I  am  astonished  that  Charley  Sanderson  has 
not  broken  through  the  ice  of  his  misanthropy  with  his  most 
winning  and  endearing  qualities;  and  if  even  my  pet  has 
not  been  able  to  do  this,  no  one  can.  I  never,  in  my  life, 
met  with  a  more  charming  youngster  ;  his  very  presence 
diffuses  sunshine ;  'tis  pleasant  to  look  upon  his  loyal  and 
loving  eyes.  I  often  pray  that  Johnny  may  become  just  such 
another ;  I  shall  miss  him  sadly.' 

'  I  hope,  John,  he  will  be  one  day  your  son-in-law.' 


84  THE    BARCLAYS 

'  Ah  !  well,  my  brother,  they  are  both  so  young,  many 
changes  may  occur  before  they  can  ever  think  of  marrying. 
I  wish  my  Gracy  no  better  fortune  than  such  a  husband,  if 
she  can  ever  make  up  her  mind  to  leave  her  mother.  One 
thing  I  do  know,  Charley  has  never  opened  his  lips  to  her, 
but  came  in  the  most  straight-forward  and  honorable  man- 
ner to  me,  and  said  that  he  loved  my  daughter  devotedly, 
and  that  if  I  thought  I  could  never  consent  to  allow  him  to  win 
her,  he  would  never  again  enter  my  doors,  as  his  wretchedness 
would  infallibly  betray  his  secret,  —  a  pretty  secret,  forsooth, 
which  all  the  household  knew.  Upon  this,  I  laughed,  and 
told  him  to  let  things  remain  just  as  they  were,  and  keep 
his  lips  closed  until  his  return  from  India,  and  then  we 
should  see  how  this  grand  passion  had  stood  the  perilous 
test  of  salt  water.' 

'  Oh  !  John,  John,'  cried  Mr.  Richard,  '  how  many  people 
in  this  over-wise  city  of  Boston  would  think  you  a  fool  if 
they  could  hear  you  now  proposing  to  give  your  daughter 
to  a  penniless  boy  ;  it  would  quite  ruin  you  on  'Change. 
So  never  mention  such  a  thing  to  any  one  but  your  brother.' 


OF    BOSTON.  85 


CHAPTER  X. 


Law.  —  A  rule  of  action. 

Johnson's  Dictionaet. 

Mr.  Barclay  had  many  old  friends  surrounding  him,  his 
first  neighbor,  Mr.  Redmond,  a  man  of  profound  judicial 
learning  and  great  legal  attainments,  had  experienced  the 
good  fortune,  early  in  life,  of  being  able  to  convince  his 
townsmen  of  the  existence  of  his  gifts,  a  most  important 
step  in  any  profession,  but  particularly  in  that  of  the  law. 
His  career  had  been  one  of  great  prosperity;  he  had  been 
sent  to  the  West  Indies  on  some  business,  just  after  he 
had  completed  his  studies,  and  there,  besides  gaining  a  large 
and  valuable  suit,  won  the  heart  and  hand  of  an  heiress  of 
great  beauty  and  reputed  accomplishments.  He  returned 
home,  bringing  his  bride,  and  having  installed  her  in  a  very 
handsome  residence,  and  furnished  it  in  a  befitting  manner, 
he  immersed  himself  in  his  law  books,  having,  apparently, 
nearly  forgotten  her  presence  in  it. 

Mrs.  Redmond  was  not  precisely  the  sort  of  person  to 
remind  any  man  very  impressively  of  her  existence,  much 
less  her  absent  husband.  She  was  a  fine  creature,  with 
lartre,  sleepy  eyes,  the  lids  of  which  she  appeared  actually  too 
indolent  to  raise,  and  her  whole  being  was  so  swallowed  up 
in  idleness  and  apathy,  that  she  hardly  seemed  awake  three 
hours  in  the  day  consecutively.  She  never  repined  at  her 
husband's  neglect,  but  consoled  herself  for  the  loss  of  his 
attentions  by  devoting  her  time  to  the  perusal  of  all  the 
novels  and  romances  she  could  procure.  She  arose  in  the 
8 


86  THE    BARCLAYS 

morning  at  nine  o'clock,  and,  as  the  only  thing  she  did 
thoroughly  was  to  perform  her  ablutions,  and,  as  she  had 
a  dim  consciousness  that  if  she  were  not  then  completely 
dressed  for  the  day,  she  should  never  mount  the  stairs  to 
her  chamber  again,  she   made  an   elegant   and    elaborate 
toilette.     Descending   to   the    dining-room   at   eleven,   she 
drank  a  cup  of  tea  and  ate  a  morsel  of  dry  bread,  and  then 
she  repaired  to  the  parlor,  and  installing  herself  in  a  luxuri- 
ous lounge,  she  dozed  away  her  time  with  a  novel.     It  was 
impossible  for  her  to  read  Miss  Austen's  works.     She  heard 
her  admirers  laud  them  to  the  skies,  but  two  chapters  gave 
Mrs.  Redmond  one  of  her  soundest  naps,  and   in  twenty 
years  she  had  not  finished  '  Emma.'     Sir  Walter  she  rather 
liked,   but  she    could    not  read    him    forever,  and,   as  she 
required  an  immense  deal  of  excitement,  she  devoured  all 
the  yellow-covered  horrors  in  Christendom.     Nothing  was 
too   shockingly   improbable   for  her   taste ;    she  doted  upon 
brigands  and  murderers,  and  strong  sensations  and  pungent 
situations ;  and  so  she  betook  herself  to  the  French  school, 
which   is   surnamed   the  '  Satanic,'  and  was   tolerably  well 
contented,   for    every   day   brought    her    some    new    devel- 
opments   of    human    weakness    and    wickedness,    with   the 
crowning  one  virtue  to  leaven  the  abominable  mass  of  sin, 
which  that  seminary  disseminates.     So  Mrs.  Redmond  dozed 
away  her  life,  with  the  interruption  occasioned  by  the  birth 
of  three  children,  a  son,  Robert,  and  two  daughters,  Jane 
and    Mary.     The   children  were  left  to  nurses,   and   after- 
wards to  a  nursery  governess,  and  then  to  private  schools 
and  masters.     The  boy  w^ent  to  Cambridge,  was  graduated 
with  honors,  and  turned  out  a  capital  fellow,  high-minded, 
frank  and   loyal,   nobody  knew   how.     He  managed   these 
things  himself,  most  people  thought. 

Jane  fared  worse.  She  was  critical  and  satirical  from  her 
earliest  days,  carping  and  fault-finding  occupied  her  mind; 
she  despised  her  mother's  inertness  and  plunged  into  another 
extreme ;  she  was  too  busy  and  active,  always  in  a  hurry. 


OF     BOSTON.  87 

There  was  no  repose  about  her ;  she  flew  about  like  a  VVill-o'- 
the-Wisp,  resting  nowhere.  She  had  most  settled  and  fixed 
ideas  upon  all  subjects,  and,' as  her  mother  neither  rode, 
walked  nor  talked,  so  Jane,  in  pure  opposition,  galloped, 
ran,  and  chattered  away  as  fast  as  she  possibly  could.  Mrs. 
Redmond  looked  upon  her  daughter  in  as  amazed  a  way 
as  she  could  compass,  and  had  been  heard  to  declare  she 
could  hardly  believe  Miss  Jane  to  be  her  own  offspring ;  but 
this  was  on  some  grand  occasion,  or  extraordinary  emer- 
gency, when  even  her  endurance  had  been  taxed  to  its 
utmost  capacity. 

Little  Mary,  as  they  all  called  her,  was  gentle  and  affection- 
ate, but,  at  times,  very  ungovernable,  from  want  of  good 
management. 

Mr.  Redmond  had  always  departed  to  his  office  long 
before  any  of  his  family  were  stirring;  he  returned  to  his 
dinner,  seated  himself  at  table,  ate  a  huge  meal  without 
knowing  whether  it  were  good  or  bad,  spoke  never  a  word, 
good  or  bad,  and  then  retraced  his  footsteps  to  the  same 
place,  and  there  remained  until  the  small  hours,  and  some- 
times just  remembered  that  he  had  a  home  at  daylight. 
It  was  well  for  him  that  the  quantity  and  not  quality  of 
his  food  was  important,  for  worse  dinners  never  were  eaten 
than  disgraced  his  loaded  board,  from  the  most  expensive 
articles,  —  no  money  being  spared,  —  to  the  cheapest,  every 
thing  was  either  over-done  or  under-done. 

Mrs.  Redmond  bestowing  no  attention  whatever  upon 
her  household,  nobody  else  did,  and,  consequently,  a  more 
extravagant  establishment  could  nowhere  be  found  ;  fortu- 
nately there  was  wealth,  or  there  would  have  been  shortly 
an  end  to  the  mismanagement.  So  that  the  mistress  of 
the  house  had  a  few  confections  at  her  repasts  she  was 
satisfied ;  retaining  in  full  force  her  West  India  taste  for 
sweet  things,  she  always  had  a  basket  of  candied  fruits  and 
sugar-plums  on  the  table  by  the  side  of  her  chair ;  they 
rivalled  the  yellow  covers,  and  as  this  house  kept  itself, 


88  THE    BARCLAYS 

the  pastiy  cook  and  confectioner  were  vastly  patronized. 
Mrs.  Redmond  had  actually  so  surfeited  her  children  with 
sweets,  that  she  could  not  induce  them  to  eat  any  more  ;  so 
she  was  obliged  to  bestow  her  favors  upon  the  Dolly  and 
others  with  whom  she  was  immensely  popular.  She  found 
this  an  excellent  plan,  as  it  saved  her  from  talking  and 
endeavoring  to  entertain  young  people,  which  she  consid- 
ered a  most  wearisome  task,  and,  as  she  was  beautiful  and 
elegantly  dressed,  they  thought  her  a  model  woman;  thus 
she  acquired  this  reputation  at  a  very  small  cost. 

Notwithstanding  her  sleepy  ways,  Mrs.  Redmond's  house 
abounded  in  visitors;  she  was  very  hospitable,  and,  if  her 
friends  would  only  talk  to  her  and  expect  no  answers,  she 
was  satisfied;  every  one  was  at  home,  the  hostess  permitting 
her  guests  to  do  as  they  pleased.  Her  circle  was  very  agree- 
able, and  comprised  many  pleasing  and  influential  persons, 
who,  meeting  others  of  the  same  stamp,  naturally  resorted 
to  a  house  where  they  were  habitually  to  be  found.  Thus 
it  happened  that  the  lady  gathered  around  her  a  pleasing 
re-union,  when  persons  of  infinitely  more  attainments  and 
talents  were  left  in  solitude.  Mr.  Redmond,  though  enjoying 
the  reputation  of  being  a  great  lawyer,  had  absolutely 
nothing  to  do  with  this,  as  he  was  always  invisible  ;  and 
Jane,  the  very  antipodes  of  her  mother,  would  have  kept 
every  body  away,  except  Miss  Tidmarsh,  with  whom  she 
fraternized  in  an  extraordinary  manner,  and,  in  fact,  was 
so  ungracious,  that  the  frequenters  of  the  establishment 
hardly  acknowledged  an  acquaintance  with  her,  and  were 
always  pleased  when  she  was  not  at  home.  Miss  Serena 
Tidmarsh  was  the  reigning  favorite  with  ^liss  Jane  Redmond, 
and  paid  much  court  to  that  young  lady.  Miss  Serena,  if 
the  truth  must  be  told,  was  many  years  older  than  Jane, 
but  having  no  friends,  she  was  fain  to  take  up  with  a  much 
younger  person,  who,  ca])tivatcd  by  a  similarity  of  tastes 
and  pursuits,  eagerly  fell  into  the  net  that  was  spread  for 


OF    BOSTON.  89 

her  by  one  much  more  conversant  with  the  ways  of  the 
world  than  herself. 

It  was  a  point  gained  in  Miss  Tidmarsh's  game  of  life, 
to  have  one  house  open  to  her  at  all  times  and  seasons, 
and  especially  a  dwelling  where  she  was  sure  to  find  a 
pleasant  society.  She  looked  upon  the  lady  hostess  with 
supreme  contempt,  and  often  puzzled  herself  to  account 
for  the  attraction  there  seemed  to  hang  about  her,  and  which 
certainly  collected  very  agreeable  surroundings.  Now,  the 
secret  was  a  simple  one  after  all,  thoroughly  good-natured 
people  are  not  so  plentiful  in  society  as  it  could  be  wished, 
and  when  they  choose  to  be  the  centre  of  a  circle,  they 
can  always  command  one;  and  if  Miss  Serena  had  exam- 
ined this  with  half  the  critical  acumen  she  habitually 
bestowed  upon  the  short-comings  of  her  own  little  world, 
she  would  soon  have  solved  her  problem  easily. 

Mrs.  Redmond  disliked  her  daughter's  friend  as  much 
as  she  could  any  thing  but  the  Barclays,  somehow, 
the  only  positive  opinion  which  emanated  from  her  lips, 
being  a  disparaging  one  of  that  family.  She,  who  never 
was  heard  to  set  down  aught  in  malice,  seemed  in  this  one 
instance  to  fail,  and  from  what  this  backsliding  proceeded 
no  one  could  tell,  but  so  it  was ;  it  might  have  been  that 
she  heard  them  so  universally  lauded,  except  by  her 
daughter  and  her  mature  friend.  It  sometimes  happens 
that  even  very  good  people  become  wearied  of  hearing 
other  very  good  people  praised.  We  are  but  mortals  after 
all. 

Robert  certainly  performed  his  full  part  in  the  pagans  that 
were  perpetually  chanted  in  the  Barclay  chorus,  and  this 
was  the  sole  irritative  that  his  mother  ever  endured.  There 
was,  to  be  sure,  a  tradition  that  Mr.  Redmond  had  gone  to 
the  West  Indies,  in  consequence  of  having  been  refused  by 
Mrs.  Barclay  in  her  maidenhood ;  but  this  surely  could  not 
have  been  the  cause  of  Mrs.  Redmond's  prejudice  against 
her  neighbors. 

8* 


0  THE    BARCLAYS 

The  lady  fancied  that  Robert  was  enamored  of  Georgy 
Barclay,  and  this  seemed  an  extremely  disagreeable  subject 
for  her  to  dwell  upon,  and,  it  really  being  the  case,  she 
always  dismissed  it  from  her  mind  as  speedily  as  possible. 
It  would  be  well  if  every  one  would  do  the  same  thing, 
and  wiser  heads  than  Mrs.  Redmond's  might  have  profited 
by  her  laudable  example. 

With  regard  to  Miss  Tidmarsh,  Mrs.  Redmond  was  pow- 
erless ;  she,  having  no  influence  over  her  daughter,  could  in 
nowise  control  her,  and  therefore  this  disagreeable  person 
came  and  went  at  her  pleasure  and  wandered  over  the  house, 
which  might  be  truly  said  to  contain  no  mistress,  since  she 
could  not  be  expelled. 

If  Jane's  misfortune  was  the  possession  of  too  much  en- 
ergy, her  mother's  consisted  in  having  too  little,  or  almost 
none  at  all.  Mr.  Redmond  had  never  done  any  thing  towards 
the  formation  of  his  wife's  character ;  she  was  a  childlike, 
lazy  creature  when  he  married  her,  and  so  she  continued 
afterwards.  His  time  being  so  completely  engrossed  by  his 
legal  pursuits,  the  bestowing  of  any  attention  upon  the  edu- 
cation of  his  children  was  out  of  the  question,  he  satisfied 
himself  that  they  had  masters  enough,  and  he  paid  their 
bills.  Of  money  he  was  profuse  ;  he  had  received  an  ele- 
gant fortune  with  his  wife,  and  the  income  from  his  pro- 
fession being  very  large,  there  were  never  any  pecuniaiy 
difliculties  under  his  roof.  In  this  way  he  lived  perfectly 
contented,  and  fully  convinced,  when  he  thought  of  his 
family  at  all,  that  all  was  right. 

Unfortunately  there  are  too  many  Mr.  Redmonds.  An 
ardent  desire  to  accumulate  wealth,  an  overweening  love  of 
monej^  and  an  undue  attention  to  professional  pursuits,  con- 
nected with  avarice  and  ambition,  destroy  the  better  part  of 
man's  character  in  America.  Nothing  is  so  uncommon  as 
to  find  any  human  being  satisfied  with  his  lot  and  condition, 
the  most  prosperous  being  as  clamorous  in  their  repinings  as 
the  needy  ;  from  the  lowest  round  of  the  ladder  to  the  high- 


OF    BOSTON.  91 

est,  all  alike  rail  against  fortune.  If,  by  chance,  any  one 
pauses  and  desists  in  his  pursuit  of  lucre,  his  name  is  chroni- 
cled far  and  wide,  and  the  solitariness  of  the  case  is  amply 
proved  by  the  wonder  and  amazement  it  creates.  And  even 
when  a  man  like  Mr.  Barclay,  gives  a  few  hours  every  day 
to  his  family,  he  is  considered  an  extraordinary  personage. 

It  is  said  that  we  are  born,  live  and  die  in  a  hurry,  and 
most  true  is  it  that  nearly  all  the  testamentary  dispositions 
of  hard-earned  wealth  are  executed  in  the  last  agony.  When 
a  man  comes  to  die,  instead  of  being  able  to  turn  his  face  to 
the  wall  in  peace  with  himself  and  the  world,  his  thoughts 
given  to  his  Creator,  he  is  tormented  with  wills  and  codicils 
and  lawyers,  and  terrestrial  arrangements,  where  all  should 
have  been  not  of  the  earth  earthy,  but  celestial. 

And  thus  it  happens  that,  in  a  long  life,  he  has  not  allowed 
himself  sufficient  time  to  dispose  of  the  dross,  the  accumu- 
lation of  which  has  cost  him  such  wcaiy  years  of  toil,  anx- 
iety and  care,  and  in  the  race  for  which  he  has  exhausted, 
and  prematurely  too,  all  the  freshness  of  his  feelings,  his 
heaven-born  affections,  his  sublunary  enjoyments,  and,  awful 
to  reflect  upon,  perchance  his  salvation.  But  over  this  let 
the  mantle  of  charity  be  thrown.  It  is  to  be  devoutly  hoped 
he  has  found  time  and  leisure  to  pray. 

Robert  Redmond,  on  leaving  college,  having  taken  Mr. 
Barclay  for  his  model,  resolved  to  be  just  such  a  merchant 
if  he  could,  so  he  entered  himself  as  a  clerk  in  a  large  and 
influential  commercial  house,  with  the  prospect  of  becoming, 
in  due  time,  a  junior  partner ;  this  view  of  his  case  being 
made  almost  a  certainty  by  his  father's  promise  of  a  large 
sum  accompanying  the  youthful  aspirant.  And  very  busily 
and  cheerfuly  went  Mr.  Robert  to  work.  It  was  never  re- 
ported of  him  that  he  actually  swept  out  the  establishment, 
though  the  time  has  been,  when  it  was  firmly  believed  no 
man  ever  made  his  fortune  without  so  doing.  Young  Amer- 
ica hires  porters  to  perform  this  operation. 

At  any  rate,  the  young  man  gave  great  satisfaction  to  his 


92  THE    BARCLAYS 

employers.  He  was  a  youth  who  sent  his  thoughts  abroad ; 
he  was  not  fitted  to  plod  at  the  desk,  but  he  did  quite  as  well 
out  of  doors,  and  he  was  sent  to  Cuba.  There  he  managed 
well  his  commissions,  and  returned  and  was  sent  again. 
His  father  seemed  rather  pleased  with  his  activity  and  enter- 
prise, and  his  mother  embraced  him  tenderly  when  he  de- 
parted, and  folded  him  tightly  in  her  arms  when  he  was 
again  restored  to  her ;  a  very  remarkable  effusion  of  sensi- 
bility on  her  part.  His  first  visit  was  always  to  the  Barclays, 
and  his  pleasant  dinner  with  them  was  one  of  the  things  in 
agreeable  perspective  during  his  absence.  Jane  was  rather 
indifferent  to  his  comings  and  goings  ;  he  was  a  little  bit  in 
her  way  at  home  ;  he  loathed  her  bosom  friend,  Miss  Se- 
rena, and  kept  out  of  her  presence  as  much  as  possible,  and, 
moreover,  expressed  to  his  sister  openly  his  dislike  of  her 
associate.  This  was  an  unpardonable  offence  in  Jane's  eyes, 
and  so  she  reconciled  herself  very  easily  to  her  brothers 
departures,  and  the  rather  that  he  always  brought  her  home 
beautiful  dresses  of  flowered  linen  cambric  and  superb  Span- 
ish fans;  but  not  all  the  Cuban  sweetmeats  which  he  lavished 
on  his  mother  ever  completely  made  her  smile  on  his  trav- 
elling trunks. 

It  was  in  his  absence  that  Mrs.  Redmond,  for  the  first 
time,  perceived  the  great  value  of  her  son's  affectionate 
devotion  to  her,  dimly,  to  be  sure,  but  this  feeling  increased 
amazingly  the  second  winter  he  passed  away.  She  remem- 
bered so  many  things  he  did  for  her  and  the  house,  the  latter 
no  unimportant  matter;  she  missed  his  evenings  at  home. 
She  had  pleasant  society,  it  was  true,  but  no  one  compensated 
her  for  the  loss  of  her  Robert.  Then  there  really  was  se- 
curity in  his  presence.  Mr.  Redmond  would  have  allowed 
the  dwelling  to  be  consumed  by  fire  before  his  eyes,  provided 
always  the  firemen  did  not  enter  his  own  bedchamber  ;  and 
as  to  asking  him  to  purchase  any  article  for  the  house,  none 
of  its  inmates,  in  their  wildest  flights  of  imagination,  ever 
dreamed  of  such  a  thing.     Sometimes  a  new  servant,  who 


OF    BOSTON.  93 

had  not  been  trained  to  the  ways  of  the  establishment,  might 
venture  upon  such  an  act  of  pure  folly.  Mr.  Redmond 
always  responded  by  presenting  his  purse,  never  knowing 
what  might  be  its  contents,  or  troubling  his  head  about  the 
matter ;  M'hich  might  be  Peach  Mountain  coal,  the  ther- 
mometer at  zero,  or  any  thing  else  of  equal  household 
importance.  Mrs.  Redmond  then  learned,  for  the  first  time, 
that  she  had  owed  her  greatly  increased  comforts  to  the 
excellent  arrangements  of  her  son,  whose  absence  she  was 
made  to  feel  every  hour  in  the  day  by  their  disappearance, 
and  to  comprehend,  in  all  its  domestic  bearings  and  other- 
wise, her  deprivation.  This  knowledge,  however,  influenced 
in  no  way  her  conduct ;  she  felt  and  hourly  lamented 
Robert's  departure,  but  she  aroused  herself  none  the  more 
for  the  consciousness  of  his  loss  ;  she  still  remained  as  ir- 
reclaimably  torpid  as  ever,  praying  only  that  he  might 
speedily  return. 


94  THE    BARCLAYS 


CHAPTER  XL 


•  My  comfort  is,  that  their  manifest  prejudice  to  my  cause  ■will  render 
their  judgment  of  less  authority.' 

Deyden. 

'  Now  this  would  be  perfectly  delightful,'  said  Mr.  Rich- 
ard, one  evening  when  they  had  all  assembled  in  the  library, 
'  if  it  were  not  for  one  exception.' 

'  And  pray  what  is  that  t  '  inquired  Mrs.  Barclay. 

'  Oh  !  'tis  the  wearisome  prospect  of  beholding  that  ridi- 
culous widow,  Mrs.  Fanny  Ashley,  sail  into  this  pleasant 
family  circle  and  destroy  all  my  comfort.  What  a  bore  she 
is!  I  am  astonished,  Catherine,  you  can  have  any  enjoy- 
ment in  the  society  of  that  woman.' 

*  My  dear  Richard,'  replied  the  lady,  '  I  must  repeat,  what 
I  have  already  asserted  numberless  times,  that  Mrs.  Ashley 
is  my  friend,  and  that  I  cannot  permit  her  to  be  so  disre- 
spectfully mentioned,  even  by  yourself,  who  are  a  privileged 
person  in  this  house.' 

'  I  assert  nothing  but  the  truth,'  snarled  Mr.  Richard, 

'  I  regret  to  hear  you  speak  in  this  way  of  such  an  esti- 
mable person  ;  Mrs.  Ashley  has  ever  been  to  me  a  true  and 
firm  friend  in  sickness  and  in  sorrow,  in  weal  and  woe.' 

'And  pray  what  sorrows  have  you  had,  Mrs.  Barclay  .'  ' 

'Many;  I  was  a  sickly  child,  nervous  and  overwhelmed 
with  all  sorts  of  fantastic  ideas,  and  she  was  my  prop  and 
support,  she  having  more  self-possession  and  courage  than 
myself.' 

'  Boldness  you  mean,'  interrupted  Mr.  Richard. 


OF    BOSTON.  95 

Mrs.  Barclay  proceeded  without  paying  any  attention  to 
his  remark",  —  'and,  consequently,  she  was  an  immense  re- 
source for  me,  protecting  me  against  the  attacks  of  my 
schoolmates,  and  helping  me  in  my  early  lessons.' 

'  It  must  have  been  in  your  early  lessons,  Catherine.' 

'  She  walked  home  with  me  to  my  own  door  every  day, 
and  from  that  time  to  this  has  steadfastly  adhered  to  me  and 
mine.  Trust  me,  my  brother,  such  friends  are  worth  pre- 
serving and  cherishing.' 

'  But  you  might  have  repaid  her,  my  sister,  in  some  other 
way  than  by  enduring  her  frivolity  every  day.  I  should  go 
mad  to  have  Mrs.  Ashley  hanging  about  me,  as  she  does 
here,  and  I  wonder  my  brother  John  submits  to  it.' 

'  Brother  John  has  a  pleasant  way,  all  his  own,  of  sub- 
mitting, and  endures  his  wife's  friends,  and,  moreover,  likes 
the  lady  in  question  nearly  as  well  as  I  do.' 

'  More  fool  he,'  snarled  Mr.  Richard.  '  What  can  he  see 
in  her  ?  ' 

'  Oh  ! '  said  Mr.  Barclay,  '  I  find  a  great  many  good  things 
to  admire  in  Mrs.  Fanny.  Firstly,  she  loves  my  wife  and 
children  dearly  ;  and  secondly,  she  has  a  small  corner  in  her 
heart  fur  your  humble  servant,  which  is  always  a  vast  recom- 
mendation to  me.' 

'  Nonsense,  John,  you're  so  soft-hearted,  any  silly  woman 
can  creep  into  your  affections.  I  should  like  to  see  that 
widow  try  to  do  the  like  to  me.' 

Mr.  Barclay  opined  that  there  was  not  much  danger  of 
the  attempt  being  made. 

'  I  detest  widows,'  resumed  Mr.  Richard.  '  Now  here  is 
this  woman  who  never  put  her  nose  out  of  doors  in  her  late 
husband's  reign  ;  no  sooner  is  he  dead,  than  she's  every 
where,  —  the  eternal  Mrs.  Ashley  !' 

'  Very  good  reason  you  have  to  say  she  never  was  seen 
in  Mr.  Ashley's  lifetime,'  replied  Mr.  Barclay ;  '  he  never 
permitted  such  doings  ;  his  was  a  reign  of  terror  with  a 
vengeance.' 


96  THE    BARCLAYS 

'  I  wish  most  heartily  that  it  had  continued,  John,  and 
that  his  interesting  relict  had  never  enjoyed  the  chance  of 
dispensing  herself  every  where  as  she  does.' 

*  But,  my  dear  Richard,'  said  Mrs.  Barclay,  'will  you  not 
please  to  spare  my  friend,  if  not  for  her  sake,  for  mine  ? ' 

'  I  sha'nt  promise  at  all,'  replied  he,  '  for  I  can  hardly 
refrain  from  telling  the  lady  myself  what  I  think  of  her. 
Even  your  idol,  Madame  de  Stael,  always  made  a  point  of 
informing  her  friends  of  their  short-comings  and  defects,  so 
what  have  you  to  say  now  r ' 

'That,  great  and  distinguished,  as  she  certainly  was,  she 
must  have  hecn  a  very  disagreeable  person.' 

'  So  you  never  wish  "  to  hint  at  faults  and  hesitate  dis- 
likes," my  sister,  though  you  are  the  only  woman  I  ever 
saw  who  had  so  few  to  be  knocked  off.' 

'  I  mean  to  reply,  brother,  by  stating  that  it  is  an  occupa- 
tion in  which  I  do  not  excel.  Sometimes,  with  young  peo- 
ple, I  venture  upon  suggestions  and  reproofs,  because  I 
imagine  I  may  do  good,  but  with  older  ones  I  should  despair 
of  making  important  changes ;  and  besides,  I  am  inclined 
to  believe  there  is  quite  as  much  good  as  evil  in  the  world.' 

'  What  Utopian  nonsense  !  I  tell  you  the  world  is  a  very 
bad  place,  and  the  people  who  cumber  its  surface  worse 
still ;  and  in  America  where  the  varnish  of  good  manners 
is  so  often  found  wanting,  all  the  wickedness  seems  to  be 
duplicated.' 

'  I  am  a  victim  to  good  manners,'  said  Mrs.  Barclay,  '  and 
will  not  deny  that  they  have  immense  weight  with  me,  but 
if  I  am  to  choose,  give  me  the  rough  bark  that  I  may  know 
what  I  have  to  fear.  You  cannot  deny  that  Mrs.  Ashley's 
manners  arc  good,  and  I  am  resolved  that  you  shall,  in  time, 
concede  that  her  heart  is  equally  so.' 

'  Mrs.  Ashley's  heart  is  nothing  to  me,  Mrs.  Barclay.' 
'  Take  care,  Dick,'  laughingly  cried  Mr.  Barclay, '  you  may 
succumb  yet  to  the  fair  widow's  charms,  and  even  wear  her 
colors ;  stranger  things  have  happened  than  that.' 


OF    BOSTON.  97 

'  Never,'  energetically  replied  Mr.  Richard. 

'Please,  then,'  said  Mrs.  Barclay,  'just  be  civil  when  you 
meet  her,  and  not  allow  her  to  perceive  how  very  disagree- 
able she  is  to  you.  I  declare  I  think  you  evince  a  total 
absence  of  good  taste  in  your  very  decided  disapproval  of 
my  friend.' 

'  I  can't  help  expressing  my  dislike,  and  so  must  talk. 
What  is  that  woman  dancing  for  at  all  the  balls,  and  passing 
her  life  in  dissipation  ?  ' 

'  How  many  balls  do  you  suppose  she  numbers  in  a  win- 
ter, Catherine  'f  ' 

*  And  how  many  do  you  suppose  she  numbers  in  a  sea- 
son ? '  queried  Mrs.  Barclay.  '  In  her  visiting  list  she  may 
possibly  count  a  dozen  balls.  Certainly  parties  are  not  so 
superabundant  here  ;  and  why  should  she  not  dance,  if  she 
likes  the  amusement  ?  It  is  surely  extremely  difficult  for 
her  to  find  any  other  kind  of  recreation.' 

'  You  never  dance,'  said  ^Mr.  Richard. 

'  Simply  because  my  husband  and  I  have  got  into  a  very 
Darby  and  Joan  way  of  living,  in  which  we  have  been 
greatly  encouraged,  perhaps  too  much,  by  our  kind  friends, 
who  are  so  much  in  the  habit  of  finding  us  at  home  that,  I 
really  believe,  they  would  now  quite  resent  our  absence 
from  our  own  fireside.  You  well  know  how  often  they 
descant  upon  the  inestimable  advantage,  as  they  are  pleased 
to  call  it,  of  having  a  place  to  go  to  in  the  evening.  It  is 
very  probable  that,  if  they  ceased  to  come  here,  we  should 
be  obliged  to  go  out  ourselves ;  'tis  dangerous  for  man  to 
live  alone,  or  woman  either.  Even  ^Madame  de  Stael,  whom 
you  have  just  quoted,  could  not  exist  out  of  Paris.  She 
vegetated  in  her  father's  dwelling,  in  the  loveliest  country  in 
the  world,  with  even  the  Society  of  the  Sismondis,  Bonstet- 
tens,  &c. ;  so,  you  perceive,  the  most  intellectual  cannot  get 
on  always  ruminating  and  reading,  but  require  recreation. 
I  forgot  to  add,  by  way  of  strengthening  my  argument,  that 
this  illustrious  woman  perfectly  worshipped  her  father ;  and 
9 


98  THE    BARCLAYS 

that  his  little  chateau  was  always  filled  with  her  admirers, 
who  were  perpetually  breathing  incense  at  her  shrine,  and 
yet  she  sighed  for  a  city  life.  Furthermore,  many  of  these 
adorers  followed  her  from  Paris,' 

'  Oh  !  she  was  a  woman,  and  a  French  one  to  boot,'  said 
Mr.  Richard. 

'  I  shall  not  undertake  to  deny  that ;  but  just  look  at  the 
famous  men  of  your  dear  continent  of  Europe  ;  however 
assiduously  they  may  be  occupied  during  the  day,  they 
always  devote  their  evenings  to  relaxation.  Madame  de 
Sismondi  arranged  every  morning  some  little  amusement  for 
her  husband's  evening;  and  that  he  enjoyed  better  health, 
and  was  brighter  and  more  fitted  for  the  labors  of  the  ensuing 
day,  there  is  no  doubt.  Tieck  gave  his  evenings  to  society, 
and  others  too  numerous  to  mention  ;  and,  to  bring  the  ques- 
tion home  to  your  own  door,  what  would  you  yourself  do 
without  us  ?  ' 

*  Oh !  I  consider  myself  at  home  in  your  house.' 

'  But  you  do  not  live  here,  and,  consequently,  you  go  out 
when  you  visit  us.' 

At  this  juncture,  just  when  Mr.  Richard  was  nailed  to  the 
floor,  the  very  lady  in  question  entered,  all  smiles  and  good- 
nature. Mr.  Richard,  much  to  the  amusement  of  his  nieces, 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  submitted  to  his  hard  destiny. 
Kate  laughed  outright. 

'You  seem,'  said  Mrs.  Ashley,  'to  be  a  very  merry 
group,  as  usual;'  and  establishing  herself  comfortably  in 
a  lounge,  she  looked  around  upon  her  friends  most  affec- 
tionately. 

'  Yes,'  said  Grace,  '  uncle  Richard  was  railing  at  the  world, 
in  his  old  way,  and  we  were  all,  as  usual,  amused.' 

'  I  am  extremely  well  enlightened  touching  Mr.  Richard's 
railings,'  said  the  pretty  widow.  '  He  spares  no  one,  and 
such  general  onslaughts  do  not  materially  disturb  my  equa- 
nimity.' 

'  I  wish  a  little  more  attention  were  paid  to  my  criticisms,' 


OF    BOSTON.  99 

responded  Mr.  Richard ;  *  the  world  would  get  on  much 
better.' 

'  The  world  treats  me  very  graciously,'  said  Mrs.  Ashley. 
'  I  've  no  quarrel  with  it  whatever.  I  should  prefer  a  little 
more  gaiety,  to  be  sure,  than  is  to  be  found  here ;  fewer 
lectures  and  more  balls  '  — 

*  Hear  her,'  said  Mr.  Richard,  looking  slyly  at  his  sister. 

'  Yes  ! '  said  Mrs.  Ashley,  '  more  balls  and  fewer  lectures. 
Not  that  I  distractedly  admire  dancing  ;  but  as  nobody  will 
give  us  any  thing  else,  why,  I  would  rather  have  that  than  no- 
thing. I  do  sincerely  wish  we  could  have  some  other  kind  of 
amusement.  I  should  like  a  little  society, —  some  place  to 
go  to,  where  I  am  not  forced  to  dance  and  eat ;  where  I  could 
have  a  pleasant  chat  with  agreeable  men  and  women.  I  am 
not  intellectual,  and  the  word  is  worn  threadbare  here  if  I 
were  ;  and  not  being  learned,  am  not  ashamed  to  confess 
that  I  like  clever  people's  company  better  than  my  own. 
But,  as  it  seems  impossible  for  me  to  find  this  diurnally  out 
of  this  house,  and  not  having  the  face  to  come  here  forever, 
why  my  only  alternative  seems  to  be  the  balls,  with,  occa- 
sionally, a  little  music  to  relieve  the  tedium  of  long  solitary 
winter  evenings.' 

'  I'm  quite  sure,'  said  Mr.  Richard,  '  that  if  you  had  this 
very  society  for  which  you  declare  yourself  to  be  hungering 
and  thirsting,  you  would  still  frequent  the  balls  in  prefer- 
ence.' 

'  I  will  say  nothing  of  the  remarkable  politeness  you  dis- 
play, Mr.  Richard,  in  openly  contradicting  a  lady  ;  but  I 
think,  my  dear  friends,  your  brother  and  sister,  will  confess 
that  I  am  consistent,  at  least,  and  so  proved  to  be,  by  actu- 
ally haunting  their  dwelling,  and  am  astonished  they  do  not 
tire  of  me  sadly.' 

Upon  this  remark,  both  Mr.  Barclay  and  his  wife  ear- 
nestly intreated  Mrs.  Ashley  never  to  imagine  she  could,  by 
any  chance,  come  too  often,  and  that  they  both  were  ex- 
tremely flattered  by  the  preference  she  had  bestowed  upon 


100  THE    BARCLAYS 

them.  They  were  the  more  emphatic  in  their  demonstra- 
tions, as  they  were  frequently  quite  ashamed  of  Mr.  Rich- 
ard's rudeness  to  their  amiable  friend, 

'  Pray  inform  me,  Mrs.  Ashley,'  said  Mr,  Richard,  '  why 
you  always  mention  the  long  word  intellectual  so  disparag- 
ingly ;  what  has  it  done  to  arouse  your  anger  ?  ' 

'  I  have  heard  it  all  my  life,'  sighed  the  lady,  very  com- 
ically ;  '  my  excellent  mother  held  up  for  example  before 
my  eyes,  for  years  and  years,  a  certain  young  lady,  who 
shall  be  nameless,  as  the  most  intellectual  person  in  the 
world,  entirely  dependent  on  her  own  resources.  This 
young  person  never  wished  to  dance,  never  wished  to  dress, 
or  to  go  to  balls,  talked  chemistiy,  medicine,  and  all  the 
'ologies  extant ;  and  my  mother,  in  order  to  improve  my 
mind,  so  that  I  might  attain  the  same  climax  of  earthly  dis- 
tinction, forced  me  to  frequent  her  society.  Now,  this  same 
young  lady  rarely  walked  abroad,  and,  if  she  did,  never  en- 
tered a  shop:  had  no  taste  for  music,  read  Greek,  and  did 
not  understand  French,  or  draw —  I  beg  her  pardon  —  she 
squared  circles,  or  fancied  she  did,  and  kept  her  hair  in  sad 
disorder.  Now,  I  trust,  I  have  given  you  my  first  impres- 
sions of  intellectual  women,  and  my  succeeding  observations 
have  not  dispelled  them.' 

'  What  became  of  her,  —  did  she  marry  }  '  inquired  Mr. 
Richard. 

'  Oh  no  !  she  could  never  spare  time  to  be  courted,  or, 
perchance,  there  came  no  lover ;  she  still  rejoices  solitarily 
in  her  intellectuality.  You  perceive  the  word  grows  longer 
with  my  storj'.' 

'  Courted  !  '  sneered  Mr,  Richard.  '  I'm  amazed,  Mrs. 
Ashley,  you  should  use  such  a  common  word  ;  it's  not  fit  for 
good  society.' 

'  And  why  not  ?  Do  you  believe  any  woman  was  ever 
won,  who  was  not  courted  ?  What  system  of  tactics  do  you 
mean  to  adopt.  Sir,  when  you  venture  upon  the  grand  ex- 
periment of  seeking  a  wife  .'' ' 


OF     BOSTON.  101 

'  Heaven  forbid  ! '  interrupted  the  gentleman. 

'  I  should  like  to  know  if  you  propose  to  throw  down  the 
handkerchief  for  some  errant  damsel  to  pick  up.  Mark  my 
words,  you  will  be  obliged  to  act  the  offending  word,  as  I 
believe  you  would  never  marry  a  woman  "  who  could,  un- 
sought, be  won."  ' 

'  Ah,  now  you  adopt  proper  expressions,  Mrs.  Ashley.' 

'  Yes,  Mr.  Richard,  just  for  the  sake  of  not  being  tautolo- 
gical, nothing  more.  I  prefer  my  first  expression,  and  very 
intelligible  it  is  to  all  ordinary  persons.' 

'  You  are  very  incorrigible  to-night,  ^ladam.' 

When  Mr.  Richard  got  to  Madam  with  Mrs.  Ashley,  he 
always  buttoned  up  his  coat,  saluted  the  company,  and  de- 
parted,—  which  little  circumstance,  as  usual,  occurred. 

When  he  was  fairly  gone  —  this  being  well  understood  by 
his  shutting  the  hall  door  with  a  slightly  perceptible  bang  — 
Mrs.  Ashley  said  :  '  What  a  pity  it  is  that  your  brother,  Mr. 
Barclay,  is  so  unlike  yourself.  He  has  excellent  qualities 
of  head  and  heart,  but  seems  to  take  a  malicious  pleasure  in 
making  himself  appear  entirely  the  reverse.  Mr.  Richard 
takes  just  as  much  time  in  endeavoring  to  persuade  every- 
body that  he  is  the  roughest  and  most  disagreeable  person  in 
the  known  world,  as  other  people  do  to  attain  the  semblance 
of  perfect  excellence.' 

'  That  is  very  true,'  responded  Mr.  Barclay,  '  I  wish  he 
could  get  a  gocd  wife  to  humanize  him.  Pray  marry  him 
yourself,  and  mak    us  all  happy.' 

'  There  exists  a  most  important  obstacle  ;  the  gentleman 
will  not  ask  me  —  and  if  he  should,  nothing  on  this  nether 
globe  would  tempt  me  to  accept  him.' 

'  But  think,  dear  Mrs.  Ashley,'  said  "Sh.  Barclay,  '  what  a 
triumph  it  would  be  to  make  this  ^rly  bachelor  succumb  to 
your  charms  :  what  a  blessed  influence  you  might  exercise 
over  him  ;  how  amiable  he  would  become,  basking  in  the 
sunshine  you  would  dispense,  and  how  admirably  you  would 
elicit  all  my  dear  brother's  hidden  excellences.' 
9* 


102  THE    BARCLAYS 

'  I  am  not  sufficiently  philanthropic  to  engage  in  such  a 
forlorn  cause,  and  should  prefer  a  mission  to  New  Zealand 
to  civilize  tattooed  chiefs.' 

'  Ah  !  now  you  are  really  too  hard  on  my  brother,'  said 
Mr.  Barclay.  *  I  love  him  dearly  ;  he  is  the  confidant  of  all 
my  perplexities.  I  have  endured,  as  yet,  thank  God  for  his 
mercies,  few  troubles.  Richard  is  loyal,  truthful  and  affec- 
tionate, full  of  generous  impulses  and  deep  sensibility.  You 
may  look  incredulous,  —  I  assure  you  he  makes  this  rough- 
ness a  mask  to  conceal  these  good  qualities.' 

'  The  Americans  and  English,'  said  Mrs.  Ashley,  '  are 
the  only  nations  -who  affect  these  sort  of  peculiarities.  On 
the  continent  of  Europe  every  man  tries  to  make  the  best  of 
himself,  and  to  present  an  agreeable  front  to  the  world. 
Why  should  any  man  wish  to  be  considered  a  bear? ' 

'  That  is  a  question  I  do  not  pretend  to  answer,'  replied 
Mr.  Barclay ;  '  and  I  only  know  that  my  beloved  brother 
certainly  has  a  slight  tendency  to  that  kind  of  aspiration,  and 
God  knows  I  sincerely  lament  it.  Catherine  will  tell  you 
how  kind  he  is  to  her  children,  how  devoted  to  herself.' 

'  Indeed  will  I,  with  all  my  heart,'  said  Mrs.  Barclay ; 
'  and  I  must  teach  you  to  think  better  of  Mr.  Richard.' 

The  hour  arriving  for  Mrs.  Ashley's  departure,  she  took  a 
kind  leave  of  her  sincere  friends. 


OF    BOSTON.  103 


CHAPTER  XII. 


« In  short,  by  night,  'twas  fits  or  fretting ; 

By  day,  'twas  gadding  or  coquetting, 

Fond  to  be  seen.' 

Goldsmith. 

Mrs.  Tidmaksh,  the  Barclays'  second  neighbor,  was  a 
widow  with  one  daughter,  Miss  Serena  Tid marsh.  This 
young  lady,  like  most  only  daughters,  had  been  allowed  to 
have  her  own  way  all  her  life  in  everything,  right  or  wrong. 
Her  father  might  have  proved  a  salutary  corrective,  but  he 
had  been  dead  a  long  time.  This  state  of  things  growing 
worse  and  worse,  a  species  of  domestic  tyranny  was  enacted 
in  the  poor  widow's  establishment,  quite  fearful  to  behold, 
Mrs.  Tidmarsh  being,  in  truth,  a  sad  victim  to  her  child's 
whims  and  caprices,  and  they  were  legion.  In  the  first 
place,  their  means  of  subsistence  being  very  limited,  Miss 
Serena  wished  them  to  seem  boundless ;  and  the  conse- 
quences of  this  attempt  at  deception  were  so  transparent, 
that  though  she  fancied  nobody  saw  her  strivings  and  contriv- 
ings  for  what  she  called  '  keeping  up  appearances,'  there 
was  not  a  doubt  in  the  minds  of  all  her  acquaintances  to  the 
reality  of  their  position,  every  one  peering  through  the  thin 
veil  thrown  over  the  futile  attempts  to  vie  with  the  Barclays, 
and  other  rich  families. 

Secondly,  Miss  Tidmarsh's  temper,  naturally  not  the  most 
amiable,  was  not  at  all  improved  by  this  mean  and  petty 
warfare  with  her  destiny  ;  and  her  time,  at  home,  was  gene- 
rally occupied  in  bewailing  her  miserable  lot,  and  abroad  in 
criticising  all  the  world,  and  disseminating  little  and  big  bits 


104  THE    BARCLAYS 

of  scandal.  Nothing  came  amiss  to  her,  every  thing  of  that 
kind  being  acceptable.  She  began  her  day  with  wearisome 
and  irritating  expedients  for  making  the  worse  appear  the 
better,  —  turning  and  twisting,  and  making  old  lamps  look 
like  new  ;  and  then,  with  a  troubled  and  anxious  spirit,  sal- 
lied forth,  and  wandered  from  house  to  house,  in  search  of 
something  disagreeable  or  unpleasant,  and  never  desiring  to 
hear  the  reverse.  Being  miserable  herself,  disappointed  in 
her  ambitious  views,  she  wished  to  find  every  one  else  in  the 
same  category,  and  as  far  as  imparting  all  manner  of  disa- 
greeable and  unpleasant  truths  went,  she  succeeded  admi- 
rably. 

Miss  Serena's  pet  dislike  was  the  Barclay  family ;  she 
hated  all  its  members.  Doctor  Johnson  would  have  admired 
her,  she  was  such  a  good  hater.  Their  prosperity  and  popu- 
larity were  actual  crimes  in  her  eyes.  She  never  stopped 
to  observe  how  rightfully  they nvere  gained;  she  was  satis- 
fied that  they  existed,  and  that  sufficed  to  arouse  all  her 
malevolent  feelings.  She  would  have  rejoiced  to  discover  a 
flaw  in  Mr.  Barclay's  character  or  purse,  both  being,  in  her 
eyes,  equal.  Tliis  was  excessively  ungrateful,  for  the  very 
house  in  which  she  dwelt  was  rented  to  her  by  Mr.  Barclay, 
at  a  mere  nominal  price,  so  small  as  to  be  hardly  worth 
mentioning,  in  consequence  of  his  friendly  relations  with  her 
deceased  father. 

Georgy  and  Grace,  Miss  Serena  declared,  were  not  even 
pretty,  and  what  people  could  see  in  them  to  rave  about,  as 
they  did,  she  could  not  conceive;  then  Kate  was  a  positive 
fright,  and  such  a  horrid  romp  !  and  even  little  Johnny  was 
a  very  naughty,  vicious  boy.  He  had  broken  one  of  her 
windows  with  a  ball,  an  unpardonable  offence  —  she  forgot 
to  mention  that  he  immediately  sent  a  glazier  to  mend  it. 
And  all  this  was  said  in  the  lowest  and  softest  tones  imag- 
inable, but  was  heard,  nevertheless.  Mr.  Barclay,  to  be 
sure,  had  befriended  her  father  when  he  was  in  trouble,  but 
what  of  that!     He  had  so  much  money  that  he  would  not 


OF    BOSTON.  105 

really  know  what  to  do  with  it,  if  he  did  not  give  it  away ; 
and  she  could  never  forgive  him  for  advising  her  deceased 
parent  not  to  leave  the  mean  little  village  where  he  had 
vegetated,  and  go  to  Boston  to  practise  his  profession,  years 
before  he  did.  And  this  was  the  truth — rather  an  uncom- 
mon circumstance  in  Miss  Serena's  narrations. 

Mr.  Tidmarsh,  a  country  lawyer,  respected  for  his  hon- 
esty and  probity,  but  possessing  small  reputation  for  talent, 
had  been  tormented  by  his  wife  into  leaving  his  native  place 
and  tiying  his  fortune  in  the  city.  He  had  thereby  lost  an 
honorable  and  sufficiently  lucrative  position  in  his  own  com- 
munity and  gained  nothing  by  the  exchange ;  this  being 
precisely  Mr.  Barclay's  prediction  when  he  counselled  liim 
not  to  remove.  IMr.  Tidmarsh,  on  discovering  the  sad  mis- 
take he  had  made,  would  gladly  have  returned  to  his  former 
residence,  but  this  having  become  impracticable,  he  was 
just  sinking  under  disappointed  hopes  and  aspirations,  when, 
by  the  death  of  a  distant  connection,  he  came  into  the  pos- 
session of  a  meagre  patrimony,  which  relieved  his  mind 
from  all  future  anxiety  respecting  his  wife  and  child.  A 
short  time  after  this  event,  he  contracted  a  fever  and  fol- 
lowed his  relative.  Miss  Sei'ena  had,  in  some  undiscovered 
way,  adopted  very  erroneous  and  extravagant  impressions 
of  her  father's  talents,  which  she  also  imagined  she  inher- 
ited, and  having  been  informed  that  Mr.  Barclay  had  not 
approved  of  his  removal,  and  had  objected  to  it  many  years 
before  the  experiment  had  been  tried  which  proved  so  sad 
a  failure,  she  resolved  to  believe,  that  if  her  lost  parent  had 
complied  with  her  mother's  wishes  earlier,  he  would  have 
won  for  himself  fame  and  distinction.  So,  out  of  this  coinage 
of  lier  own  fertile  brain,  she  wove  a  very  touching  and 
pleasing  romance. 

Miss  Tidmarsh  had  not  been  more  favored  by  nature  than 
fortune  ;  she  was  below  the  middle  size,  stooping  exces- 
sively, which  she  fancied  imparted  a  willowy  movement  to 
her  person ;  was  thin  and  bony ;  had  very  little  hair,  and 


106  THE    BARCLAYS 

extremely  long  scraggy  arms ;  her  neck  was  singularly 
elongated,  and  her  shoulders  were  always  uncovered  day 
and  night,  and  were  distinguished  by  large  knobs  on 
them  which  protruded  from  every  dress  she  wore.  These 
shoulders  were  always  uncovered,  summer  and  winter. 
To  be  sure,  she  had  occasionally  the  pretension  of  wearing 
an  areophane  scarf,  or  an  illusion  tippet,  but  these  articles 
of  feminine  attire  always  falling  immediately  off,  the  knobs 
remained  visible  in  their  pristine  ugliness.  These  notable 
charms  were  always  arrayed  in  an  aqua-marine  colored  silk 
dress,  the  shade  never  being  changed  ;  this,  the  damsel's 
favorite  hue,  she  constantly  wore.  It  so  happened  that  an 
invalid  friend  who  was  going  to  Paris  for  six  weeks,  had, 
in  default  of  any  one  else,  invited  Miss  Serena  to  accompany 
her,  which  invitation  was  rapturously  accepted;  she  went 
and  returned  in  the  appointed  time,  not  having  been  per- 
mitted to  remain  longer.  This  unfortunate  excursion  filled 
up  the  measure  of  the  lady's  absurdities,  she  re-appearing 
with  such  a  quantity  of  dippings  and  bobbings  and  duck- 
ings and  French  phrases  as  were  perfectly  unendurable  ; 
the  six  weeks  in  Paris  having  turned  her  head  completely. 
Henceforward  she  could  no  loMger  dine  without  soup,  ate 
her  meat  solus,  and  changed  her  plate  for  every  vegetable, 
and  insisted  upon  her  poor  mother  doing  the  same  things, 
to  whom  it  was  a  perfect  martyrdom  and  a  sad  inconve- 
nience, as  they  had  but  one  maid  of  all  work,  and  she  was 
a  dwarf  and  a  cripple. 

Miss  Serena,  however,  was  constant  to  her  aqua-marine 
fancy,  and  this  costume  with  newly  ac([uired  twitches,  starts 
and  contortions,  which  she  imagined  to  be  supremely  Paris- 
ian, gave  to  beholders  the  impression  that  she  was  half 
frozen — so  that  in  all  the  houses  slie  frequented,  on  her 
arrival,  '  Allow  me  to  give  you  a  shawl '  were  the  first 
words  addressed  to  her  after  the  customary  salutations  had 
taken  place.  With  her  French  mosaic  siie  did  not  long 
annoy  Mrs.  Barclay,  for  that  lady,  addressing  her  in  a  Ian- 


OF    BOSTON.  107 

guage  she  herself  spoke  remarkably  well,  declared  she 
thought  they  had  much  better  commune  together  in  a  whole 
tongue  than  a  half  one,  and  Miss  Serena,  unable  to  com- 
prehend the  observation,  stuttered  and  stammered,  and  was 
fain  to  confess  she  did  not  understand  its  purport,  with*,  very 
annoyed  and  mortified  air. 

But  where  was  Miss  Serena's  mother  all  this  while  ?  'At 
home  in  her  closet,  at  her  studies,'  so  said  her  daughter, 
who  affected  abroad  to  idolize  her.  And  so  she  was,  having 
completed  her  eighteen  hundred  and  thirty-third  sonnet, 
had  numbered  it,  and  pasted  it  into  an  immense  folio  vol- 
ume, by  the  side  of  its  predecessors  or  ancestors  —  for  some 
of  them  were  very  old  indeed  —  and  these,  never  to  be  too 
much  admired  effusions,  were  awaiting  an  amiable  and 
accommodating  publisher.  Now,  amiable  and  accommo- 
dating publishers  exist,  but  —  oh!  that  shocking  but  —  they 
require  money,  especially  when  there  is  a  chance  that  the 
critical  and  capricious  reading  world  may  not  fall  in  love 
with  their  offerings;  and  Mrs.  Tidmarsh  had  none,  and  they 
dared  not  venture  upon  the  folio  without  the  commodity,  so 
the  unfortunate  poetess  was  as  unhappy  as  her  daughter. 

These  sonnets  Mrs.  Tidmarsh  denominated  occasional :  if 
they  were  she  invented  the  occasions,  their  subjects  being. 
The  first  Green  Leaf  in  Spring,  the  last  Yellow  Leaf  in 
Autumn,  a  Mouse  running  into  a  Hole,  Ditto  running  out, 
A  Fire-fly,  the  Belgian  Giant,  Mr.  Barclay's  Family,  includ- 
ing Nursey  Bristow,  an  important  personage  in  it  —  Niagara, 
which  she  had  never  seen,  and  Mary  Redmond's  kitten 
which  she  had,  with  hosts  of  others  of  equal  originality  and 
interest. 

It  was  very  cruel,  it  must  be  conffessed,  of  the  naughty 
avaricious  publishers  not  to  avail  themselves  of  these  hidden 
treasures,  but  thereby  Mr.  Barclay  was  preserved  from  an 
infliction  —  they  being  dedicated  to  him  —  Mrs.  Tidmarsh, 
disagi-eeing  with  her  only  daughter,  and  worshipping  his 
very  shadow.     When   this   important   fact  was   communis 


108  THE    BARCLAYS 

cated  to  him,  he  certainly  did  pray  they  might  never  see 
the  light  of  day  in  a  printed  book,  and  there  was  conso- 
lation ;  for  the  enormous  size  of  the  folio  precluded  all 
idea  of  its  being  *  handed  round '  in  manuscripts  to  admiring 
friends  and  neighbors. 

Very  few  persons  ever  saw  Mrs.  Tid marsh,  her  daughter 
keeping  her  concealed  from  the  rude  gaze  of  the  public  upon 
which  she  so  liberally  bestowed  herself;  and,  as  is  often  the 
case,  the  public,  ungratefully  regardless  of  Miss  Serena's 
charms,  desired  excessively  to  see  her  mother  ;  in  fact,  there 
was  a  great  curiosity  awakened  to  get  a  peep  at  the  famous 
folio,  eighteen  hundred  and  thirty-three  sonnets  being  rather 
a  large  number  for  even  Boston — '  The  American  Athens.' 

Pleasant  Mrs.  Ashley  resolved  she  would  be  tantalized 
no  longer  with  fabulous  histories  touching  the  renowned 
poetess,  but  would  see  her  in  spite  of  Miss  Serena's  pre- 
cautions. So,  one  day  she  happened  to  meet  her  careering 
about  in  search  of  a  fair,  which  was  operating  somewhere  ; 
and  having  perfidiously  enlightened  her  by  showing  her  the 
place  she  left  her,  fully  occupied  with  screaming  dolls 
and  emery  strawberries,  and  repaired  immediately  to  Mrs. 
Tidmarsh's  house.  Once  there,  she  gave  a  sharp  ring  at 
the  door,  and  authoritatively  demanded  of  a  dwarfish  looking 
pattern  of  a  serving-maid,  who  answered  the  bell  in  a  most 
untidy  state,  to  see  her  mistress. 

'  You  mean  Miss,  ma'am  ?  '  was  the  answer,  or  question. 

'  Not  at  all,  —  your  mistress.' 

As  the  dwarf  recognised  but  one  in  their  household,  she 
was  rather  puzzled,  but,  extremely  awed  by  the  fine  lady, 
she  mounted  the  stairs  in  great  trepidation,  and  leaving  the 
doors  open  behind  her,  Mrs.  Ashley  derived  what  benefit 
there  was  to  be  obtained  from  hearing  all  the  conversation 
above. 

'Oh!  ma'am,  ma'am,  there's  a  great  lady  down  stairs^ 
with  such  a  splendid  velvet  ])at  and  cloak  !  wants  to  see 
you,  yourself,  ma'am.' 


OF    BOSTON.  109 

'  No  such  thing,  no  such  thing,  'tis  my  daughter,'  replied 
rather  a  cracked  voice. 

Yes  ma'am,  I'm  all  right,  I  am  ;  she  wants  to  see  you 
and  nobody  else ;  nothing  else  will  suit  her,  ma'am.' 

'  I  can't  believe  it.     Why  didn't  you  say  I  was  out .? ' 

'  Because  you  never  are,  ma'am.' 

A  pause  ensued,  and  then  Mrs.  Ashley  heard,  '  Perhaps 
its  Eay's,  Gray's  and  Fay's  wife,  the  great  publishers ; 
Mrs.  Tidmarsh,  for  it  was  she,  forgetting  in  the  confusion 
of  ideas,  created  by  the  uncommon  circumstance  of  a  visitor 
to  herself,  that  she  had  bestowed  but  one  spouse  on  the  firm. 

'  Well,  give  me  my  new  green  bonnet,  and  bid  her  Avalk 
up,  Sally.' 

'  So  she  wears  green,  as  well  as  her  daughter,'  said  Mrs. 
Ashley  to  herself. 

A  short  interval  ensued,  and  the  little  maid  came  hobbling 
down  stairs  and  invited  her  to  ascend.  Tbis  sprite-like  atten- 
dant mounted  the  flight  precisely  as  do  small  dogs,  stopping, 
turning  and  watching,  and  coming  to  a  positive  standstill  on 
the  landing,  Mrs.  Asliley  found  herself  in  a  large  chamber 
scrupulously  neat  and  clean,  with  a  ghost  of  a  fire  ;  it  was  a 
very  cold  day,  and  there  seemed  to  be  no  occupant  of  this 
room.  Looking  carefully  around,  the  attendant  having  dis- 
appeared, she  presently  discovered  a  sort  of  closet  which 
had  been  partitioned  off  from  some  other  room,  as  it  had  but 
half  a  window  in  it;  and  there  sat  Mrs.  Tidmarsh,  her  feet 
immersed  in  a  tub  of  hot  water,  the  steam  enveloping  her 
person,  with  the  famous  folio  on  her  knees,  a  pencil  and 
paper  in  her  hands,  and  two  grass-green  bonnets  on  her 
head. 

Having  been  extremely  agitated  by  the  rumor  of  a  visit  to 
herself,  and  always  wearing  a  bonnet  of  the  above-described 
color,  the  shade  of  her  green  being  more  matronly  than  her 
daughter's  favorite  tinge,  she  only  thought  of  putting  on  the 
newest  and  best  on  such  a  momentous  occasion,  and  left  the 
old  one  in  its  accustomed  place.  As  to  her  feet,  being 
10 


110  "  THE    BARCLAYS 

greatly  addicted  to  soaking  them  for  hours,  she  had  given 
them  no  attention  whatever. 

Mrs.  Ashley  was  obliged  to  keep  her  risible  muscles  under 
proper  subjection  —  no  small  task  —  and  then  to  clear  a 
place  for  herself  and  a  chair  in  the  closet,  as  the  floor  was 
completely  covered  a  foot  deep  with  little  bits  of  paper,  sad 
scrawls,  which  she  conjectured  to  be  rejected  sonnets.  She 
was  then  obliged  to  disabuse  the  lady  of  the  impression  that 
she  was  the  better  half  of  Ray's,  Gray's  and  Fay's  firm  ; 
and,  moreover,  to  inform  her  that  she  had  heard  such 
wonderful  accounts  of  herself  and  her  poetical  productions 
that  she  ardently  desired  to  see  them,  and  had  ventured  to 
take  the  liberty  of  calling,  as  she  was  acquainted  with  Miss 
Tidmarsh.  She  also  assured  the  lady  that  she  had  frequently 
requested  an  introduction  to  her  from  her  daughter,  but 
having  been  unsuccessful  in  the  application,  had  conse- 
quently resolved  to  effect  it  herself.  Then,  by  the  judicious 
application  of  a  little  well-turned  flattery,  she  persuaded  the 
poetess,  nothing  loth,  to  exhibit  the  folio;  and,  indeed,  so 
completely  fascinated  her,  that  she  promised  to  indite  a 
sonnet  to  her  eyebrow. 

jMrs.  Ashley,  who  was  fearful  Miss  Serena  might  return, 
felt  obliged  to  curtail  her  visit ;  and,  with  many  compliments 
and  thanks,  presented  her  profound  obeisances  to  Mrs.  Tid- 
marsh, and  departed  quite  enchanted  with  the  success  of  her 
stolen  interview. 

Miss  Serena  was  furious  when  she  returned  home,  and 
her  mother  recounted  to  her  the  pleasant  visit  she  had 
received.  ^Irs.  Tidmarsh  endeavored  to  palliate  the  offence 
she  had  committed  in  entertaining  a  stranger,  by  saying  it 
was  only  that  silly,  flirting  widow,  Mrs.  Ashley. 

'  Silly  and  flirting  if  you  will,  mother,'  gruffly  responded 
Miss  Serena,  '  this  ridiculous  adventure  will  be  all  over 
Boston  before  night.'  Fancy  Miss  Serena  Tidmarsh,  the 
gentle,  delicate-voiced  creature !  speaking  to  her  adored 
mother  arufflv ! 


OF    BOSTON.  Ill 

And  Mrs.  Ashley,  who  quite  piqued  herself  upon  the 
adroitness  with  which  she  had  executed  her  project,  certainly 
did  mention  it  to  Mrs.  Barclay  and  her  daughters,  and  just  a 
few,  very  few  other  friends,  who  were  immensely  amused  at 
her  adventure. 


112  THE    BARCLAYS 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


'  The  worlil  is  bright  before  thee, 
Its  summer  flowers  are  thine, 
Its  calm  blue  sky  is  o'er  thee, 
Thy  bosom  pleasure's  shrine.' 

IIalleck. 

Johnny  Barclay  was  an  only  son,  a  very  perilous  position 
for  the  boy,  but  his  father  had  resolved  that  his  child  should 
prove  an  exception  to  the  inevitable  rule  of  '  sole  heirs ' 
being  spoiled  by  indulgence,  and  he  very  early  began  to 
affect  a  very  strict  discipline  with  him.  As  soon  as  Johnny 
evinced  the  vagrant  propensities  for  which  urchins  are  re- 
markable, and  preferred  decidedly  the  streets  to  a  large  and 
commodious  court-yard  with  plenty  of  play-ground,  Mr. 
Barclay  dispatched  him  into  the  country  to  an  excellent 
boarding-school.  At  first,  the  boy  was  inconsolable,  for  he 
was  the  5-oungest  in  the  establishment,  and  on  his  return 
home,  in  the  vacation,  he  vowed  to  the  Dolly,  his  boon 
companion  and  friend,  that  he  would  never  return.  But  this 
high  resolve  proving  abortive,  Johnny  retraced  his  steps 
very  sadly  indeed,  to  what  he  was  pleased  to  call  his  purga- 
tory. 

The  second  leave  of  absence  found  the  schoolboy  in  much 
better  spirits,  and  quite  well  contented.  The  Dolly,  inquir- 
ing the  cause  of  this  sudden  revolution  in  his  sentiments 
touching  his  seat  of  learning,  was  thus  enlightened.  '  Wliy 
you  mus^  know,  my  sister,  that  when  I  first  went  to  Mr. 
Sterling's  school  I  was  the  smallest  and  youngest  boy  there; 
now,  any  one,  with  common  sense,  would  suppose  I  should 


OF    BOSTON.  113 

have  been  coaxed  and  petted  and  treated  kindly ;  not  a  bit ; 
—  I  got  nothing  but  cuffs  and  kicks,  and,  what  was  worse 
than  all,  little,  sharp,  short  pinches,  exactly  as  if  my  skin 
had  been  caught  up  with  pincers,  only  they  wern't  hot; 
they  were  the  very  worst  things  I  had  to  bear,  I  can  tell  you. 
Well,  that  whole  term  I  was  so  miserable  I  had  a  good  mind 
to  run  away,  —  not  home,  —  for  I  was  afraid  to  do  that ;  but 
any  where  ;  I  thought  of  going  to  sea  before  the  mast ; 
that's  what  almost  all  the  boys  talk  about  and  threaten  to 
do  when  they're  mad  with  the  masters,  or  each  other; 
there's  no  end  to  their  savage  threats.' 

'  What  would  my  father  have  done,  Johnny,  if  you  had 
run  away,  you  naughty,  naughty  boy,  to  dare  to  think  of 
such  a  thing  ?  ' 

'  Well,  well,  I  can't  help  that  now,  you  know,  for  I  did'nt 
do  it,  but  I  certainly  should,  as  sure  as  a  gun,  if  something 
else  hadn't  happened ;  why,  I  was  pinched  black  and  blue 
all  over,  and  sometimes  could  hardly  move  for  the  horrid 
pain,  and  couldn't  sleep  of  nights.' 

'  But  why  didn't  you  give  the  pinches  back  again,  Johnny  ? 
I  should  have  done  so,  in  your  place,  and  with  compound 
interest  too.' 

'  Oh  I  tried,  but  it  was  the  big  boys  that  pinched.  I  tried 
hard  to  fight  them,  one  and  all,  and  they  pinched  worse 
and  worse,  they  said  I  showed  such  a  right  plucky  spirit. 
Well,  the  next  term  was  awful,  and  I  had  just  made  up  my 
mighty  mind  to  run  away,  any  where,  I  didn't  care  where, 
when  Joe  Staples  —  you  know  him  —  came  tearing  along,  and 
tossing  up  his  cap  in  the  air;  he  was  the  next  oldest  boy  to 
me  in  the  school  and  suffered  some,  I  can  tell  you,  Dolly  — 
Well ";  he  came  and  screamed  and  shouted,  "Glorious  news! 
glorious  news  for  you,  Johnny  Barclay  !  the  two  Baileys  are 
coming."  "What,"  I  screamed,  "you  don't  say  so!  well, 
then,  I  won't  run  away  to  sea  as  a  cabin-boy,  that's  certain." 
"  Why,  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me  you  thought  you  would," 
says  Joe.  "  Oh  !  yes,  I'd  settled  the  very  day,  and  saved 
10* 


114  THE    BARCLAYS 

up  all  my  money."  "  Why,  how  much  have  you  got  ? " 
says  he.  "  A  dollar  !  "  "  Then  give  me  half  for  the  good 
news,  you  little  villain,"  says  he.  "Well,  will  you  believe 
it,  Dolly,  I  gave  him  the  whole,  for,  you  know,  that  was 
glorious  news  !  capital  news  !  indeed. "  ' 

'  I  don't  understand  at  all  what  you  mean,  Johnny.' 

'  Oh,  how  confoundedly  slow  you  are,  Dolly ;  don't  you 
see,  the  two  Baileys  were  very  small  boys,  and  my  turn 
had  come,  and  for  every  blow,  cufF,  kick  and  pinch  I  ever 
had,  I  gave  them  two  —  and  sometimes  three  f '  said  Johnny, 
as  if  reflectively  making  up  the  sum  total  in  his  own  mind. 

'  Oh,  Johnny,  Johnny,  what  a  sad,  bad  boy  you  are  !  how 
could  you  be  so  cruel,  when  you  knew  so  well  how  hard 
the  cuffs,  kicks  and  pinches  were  to  bear?' 

'  Fiddle-dc-dee,  Dolly,  it  was  just  for  that  reason  that  I 
punished  the  Baileys,  and  then  if  I  hadn't  done  it,  somebody 
else  would  have  pommelled  them  to  death ;  but,  as  it  was, 
the  big  boys  gave  me  my  chance,  they'd  had  theirs,  and  I 
thought  they  were  proper  good  fellows  for  doing  so.' 

These  confidential  communications  were  always  made  in 
the  nursery,  a  large,  commodious  and  pleasant  room,  the 
windows  of  which  looked  down  upon  the  court-yard,  and  in 
which  the  sun  shone  ever  brightly.  The  room  was  filled 
with  all  sorts  of  playthings  in  cabinets  and  cupboards  and 
shelves,  the  discarded  household  gods  of  Georgiana  and 
Grace  Barclay  having  descended  to  their  sister,  who  would 
have  shortly  demolished  them,  but  for  the  presiding  genius 
of  this  pleasant  resort,  Nursey  Bristow.  This  dear  old 
M'oman  was  a  treasure,  indeed ;  she  had  lived  with  Mrs.  Bar- 
clay from  the  day  of  her  marriage,  and,  being  a  widow 
and  childless,  had  bestowed  all  her  affections  upon  the  chil- 
dren who  were  confided  to  her  care,  and  verily  thought 
them  nature's  most  perfect  handiwork.  Georgy  and  Gracy 
were  very  much  attached  to  this  invaluable  person,  but 
having  been  disfranchised,  they  had  another  snug  retreat  in 
a  little  room  called  their  study,  so  the  nursery's  sole  tenant 


OF    BOSTON.  115 

was  the  Dolly.  In  the  vacations  there  might  be  seen  Johnny 
and  his  sister  holding  close  and  earnest  consultations  touch- 
ing all  manner  of  projects  and  plans  for  amusements,  none 
of  them  of  a  verj^  feminine  character,  and  Nursey  in  her 
low  rocking-chair,  with  the  cleanest  of  cap  and  apron,  appa- 
rently mending  stockings,  but  looking  over  her  spectacles  at 
her  two  darlings.  It  was  true,  it  must  be  confessed,  that  she 
did  not  altogether  approve  of  all  the  proceedings,  they  being, 
in  many  respects,  exceedingly  antagonistic  to  her  precon- 
ceived ideas  of  perfect  propriety.  '  But  then  poor  Johnny, 
who  was  so  cruelly  sent  away  to  that  horrid  school  all  the 
time,  ought  to  be  gratified  when  he  loas  at  home  ; '  and  she 
had  said  this  so  many  times  that  Johnny  felt  he  was  licensed 
to  do  exactly  as  he  pleased  during  his  holidays.  In  Nursey's 
opinion,  the  Dolly  fully  coincided ;  what  her  own  peculiar 
tastes  had  to  do  with  her  views  she  did  not  stop  to  reflect. 

Every  finale  of  term-time  brought  Johnny  home,  fraught 
with  some  grand  project ;  as  he  grew  older  theatricals  were 
dominant.  And  no  one  can  imagine  the  strivings  and  con- 
trivings  of  his  sister  associate  to  carry  out  all  the  plans  for 
curtains,  scenery,  footlights  and  orchestra;  nobody  could  do 
any  thing  without  the  Dolly.  It  was  true  she  did  not  perform 
with  the  boys,  for  she  was  the  audience,  no  other  person 
being  allowed  to  be  present,  —  but  she  certainly  was  not 
deceived  by  illusions  and  stage  effect,  as  she  produced  all 
there  was,  herself.  The  girl's  greatest  trouble  arose,  how- 
ever, from  the  ambitious  aspirations  of  her  dramatic  corps. 
They  would  not  rest  contented  with  proverbs  and  light 
farces,  but  sighed  after  the  immortal  Shakspeare,  and  nothing 
short  of  Lear  satisfied  them.  She  consoled  herself,  for  her 
lack  of  influence  in  diverting  their  views  into  other  channels, 
with  the  certainty  that  the  tragedy  was  sure  to  become  a 
farce,  and  so  it  did ;  the  passions  being  torn  to  shivers  in  the 
most  orthodox  manner.  The  orchestra  consisted  of  a  guitar, 
played  by  the  Dolly,  who  also  painted  the  scenery  and 
attired  the  actors  in  her  own  garments  when  they  were  re- 


116  THE    BARCLAYS 

quired.  All  this  labor  she  bore  with  unexampled  patience, 
as  well  as  the  rehearsals,  where  the  awkwardness  of  some, 
and  the  want  of  memory  of  others  '  was  enough,'  as  she 
declared,  '  to  try  the  patience  of  Job  himself.'  Theatricals 
had  a  great  vogue  for  a  long  time,  and  the  sister  had  made 
grand  preparations  for  the  arrival  of  her  brother,  —  when  lo  ! 
a  change  had  come  over  the  spirit  of  his  dream  ;  histrionics 
no  longer  ruled  the  hour,  but  martial  ardor  reigned  in  their 
stead. 

Johnny  Barclay  would  be  nothing  but  a  soldier.  He  got 
up  a  company,  (he  called  it  a  regiment,)  and  from  actors 
the  Dolly  was  elevated  to  drilling,  (the  old  troupe  be  it  un- 
derstood,) the  youth  of  her  day  for  defenders  of  their  coun- 
try's rights  —  which  were  not  attacked  at  all.  A  great 
mortification  awaited  her;  she  knew  that  her  brother  had 
been  the  principal  mover  in  this  military  excitement,  that  he 
had  supplied  the  greater  part  of  the  funds  for  the  vast  ex- 
penditure consequent  upon  it;  he  had  given  all  his  own 
pocket  money,  and  —  hers;  and  what  was  her  annoyance 
and  disgust  when,  instead  of  being  commander  in  chief  of 
the  forces,  he  would  persist  in  being,  notwithstanding  all  her 
prayers  and  entreaties,  a  drummer!  This  was  positively 
shocking,  outrageous,  she  declared.  '  Johnny  had  no  am- 
bition !  he  would  never  make  any  thing  in  this  world  ! ' 
But  nothing  surpassed  the  drummer's  amazement  at  his  sis- 
ter's anger  — '  Why,  what  did  1  get  up  the  regiment  for,' 
asked  he,  '  but  to  make  all  the  noise  1  could  in  it  ?  How 
ridiculous  and  silly  girls  are  ;  what  absurd  creatures  ! '  But, 
as  the  pair  could  not  exist  apart,  they  arranged  their  dis- 
agreement amicably,  and  the  Dolly  drilled  the  regiment  in 
the  nursery  first,  and  afterwards  looked  down  upon  her  sol- 
diers from  its  windows,  when  they  marched  and  counter- 
marched in  the  court-yard.  Now  this  company  was,  or 
appeared  to  be,  devoted  heart  and  soul  to  the  young  girl, 
who  ministered  to  their  gratification  so  unceasingly.  They 
made  Russian  mountains  and  snowy  fortifications  for  her  in 


OF    BOSTON.  117 

the  winter,  and  capital  slides ;  and  in  summer  climbed  the 
solitary  pear  tree  in  the  court-yard  and  gathei'ed  its  ripening 
fruits.  They  constantly  consulted  her  upon  all  occasions, 
and  partook  of  many  nice  feasts  in  the  nursery,  prepared 
by  Nursey  Bristow  and  their  hostess. 

The  Dolly  conceived  the  idea  of  presenting  to  her  friends 
a  stand  of  colors,  and  upon  them  she  worked  untiringly. 
She  had,  from  her  earliest  days,  possessed  an  uncommon 
talent  for  drawing,  and  it  had  been  assiduously  cultivated ; 
so  she  executed  very  many  beautiful  designs  upon  the  white 
silk,  and  plentifully  besprinkled  the  standards  with  gold  leaf 
and  spangles,  and  altogether  produced  a  magnificent  effect 
in  the  eyes  of  Nursey  and  the  soldiers,  who  watched  her 
operations  with  intense  delight.  The  colors  completed,  the 
day  of  '  a  grand  dinner  parly,'  as  Nursey  called  it,  was 
selected  for  the  presentation,  as  all  the  family  would  then 
be  engaged,  and  the  thing  might  be  done  without  observa- 
tion ;  for  the  Dolly,  having  prepared  a  speech  for  the  occa- 
sion, was  unwilling  that  any  one  should  hear  it  but  the 
parties  interested.  The  boys,  in  the  interim,  had  arranged, 
under  the  pear  tree,  then  in  full  bloom,  a  staging  which  was 
covered  over  with  variegated  horse-blankets  from  the  stable, 
and  some  evergreens  and  flowers,  and  the  effect  produced 
was  quite  captivating. 

Just  as  the  guests  at  Mr.  Barclay's,  on  the  appointed  day, 
had  seated  themselves  at  table  and  were  commencing  their 
repast,  the  Dolly  sallied  forth  from  the  nursery,  carr^'ing  in 
triumph  her  colors.  She  was  received  with  shouts  of  ap- 
plause by  the  soldiery,  and,  as  she  had  made  quite  an  elabo- 
rate toilette  for  the  occasion,  she  really  presented  a  most 
effective  appearance,  the  costume  being  imitated  from  a 
French  print  of  the  Goddess  of  Liberty,  the  petticoats 
elongated.  She  walked  in  a  stately  manner  to  the  pear 
tree,  and  ascending  a  small  flight  of  steps,  mounted  the 
platform  prepared  for  her.  The  speech  was  rapturously 
received,  and,  after  a  short  pause,  she  commenced  Drake's 


118  THE    BARCLAYS 

address  to  the  American  flag,  and  was  getting  on  famously, 
to  the  united  satisfaction  of  herself  and  the  military,  when, 
melancholy  to  relate,  the  platform  gave  way,  and  the  in- 
spired declaimer  found  herself  suddenly  immersed  to  the 
chin  in  cold  water.  It  transpired  that  the  youthful  soldiery 
might  be  very  good  militaiy  men,  but  were  not  certainly 
architects,  for  they  had  raised  their  superstructure  upon  very 
frail  materials,  and  the  Dolly  had  really  and  truly  fallen  into 
a  water-butt.  The  courageous  girl,  nothing  daunted,  waved 
her  colors  and  linished  her  poem  ;  but  it  was  not  fated  to  be 
heard,  for  the  soldiery,  totally  unmindful  of  all  the  gratitude 
they  owed  to  their  best  friend,  rent  the  air  with  shouts  of 
laughter,  and  fairly  finished  by  rolling  on  the  ground. 

Nursey  Bristow,  who  had  been  watching  from  the  win- 
dows of  her  retreat  this  '  grand  presentation,'  immediately 
called  some  of  the  women-servants,  and  rescued  her  darling 
from  her  watery  prison-house,  who  forthwith  flew  up  stairs, 
dripping  like  a  naid.  She  was  disrobed,  the  bed  warmed, — 
Nursey  had  great  faith  in  warming-pans,  —  and  then  imme- 
diately placed  therein. 

The  Dolly  heeded,  not  in  the  least,  her  discomfiture ;  she 
rather  liked,  what  she  called,  the  fun  of  the  thing,  but  she 
was  shocked  inexpressibly  at  the  risibility  of  the  soldiery. 
'  What  an  ungrateful  world  is  this,  Nursey  ! '  sighed  she. 
'  It  is  sad  to  think  of  it,  after  all  the  pains  I  have  taken  with 
those  good-for-nothing  boys,  for  years;  not  one  of  them  ever 
came  to  my  rescue,  but,  on  the  contrary',  rolled  on  the 
ground,  laughing!  —  Oh!  I  am  disgusted  with  their  pro- 
ceedings, Nursey  dear,  and  mark  my  words,  from  this  day 
henceforth,  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  them,  —  nothing! 
Oh!  the  ingratitude  of  the  world,  tlic  in-grat-i-tude  ! '  and 
the  Dolly  was  soundly  asleep. 

Nursey  looked  aflectionatcly  upon  her  darling,  hoping  and 
praying  she  would  not  catch  a  cold  ;  and  nothing  did  the 
young  lady,  disgusted  with  the  world,  catch,  but  a  nap  which 
lasted  unbroken  until  the  next  morning. 


OF    BOSTON.  119 

With  the  next  day  came  a  heavy  reckoning  for  the  delin- 
quents, for  the  Dolly  called  all  the  military  together,  and 
took,  as  she  said,  an  eternal  farewell  of  them.  She  re- 
proached them  for  their  ill  manners  and  their  ingratitude, 
and  told  them  she  hoped  they  would  miss  her  forever. 
The  military  were  completely  overwhelmed  with  this  un- 
expected blow,  and  pleaded  for  mercy  in  most  abject  terms, 
but  the  young  damsel  was  inexorable. 

As  soon  as  they  had  departed,  the  Dolly  said,  'Now, 
Nursey,  I  intend  to  turn  over  a  new  page  in  my  life.  I 
play  no  longer  with  boys  ;  they  are  a  heartless  and  unfeeling 
set,  and  I  have  done  with  them.  I  am  constantly  told  that  I 
am  an  untamable  romp  ;  that  may  be  true,  but  I've  finished 
my  games  with  the  boys.  Only  think,  Nursey,  I'm  fifteen 
next  month,  —  it's  quite  time,  you'll  allow.' 

And  the  Dolly  kept  her  word  sacredly.  Deputation  upon 
deputation  waited  upon  her,  and  begged  her  to  reconsider 
her  promise,  unavailingly.  She  was  the  first  person  to 
relate  her  ridiculous  misadventure,  and,  accordingly,  made 
an  excellent  sketch  of  it,  and  presented  it  to  the  family  at 
dinner,  that  same  day,  and  related  the  occurrence  with  great 
spirit,  and  also  her  intentions  of  abandoning  her  old  friends. 
The  latter  part  of  her  communication  was  received  with 
great  commendation  by  all  but  Johnny,  who  was  very  un- 
happy on  the  occasion. 

'  A  change  had  o'er  his  spirit  come. 
And  he  was  sad  indeed.' 


120  THE    BARCLAYS 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

*  There  is  something  very  mortifying  to  pass  one's  life  in  a  struggle 
to  make  way  in  a  particular  path,  and  not  to  believe  that  one  neither 
does,  nor  can  succeed  or  advance  in  it.' 

AuTOBioGRArnY  OF  Sir  Egerton  Brvdges. 

The  Barclays  received  the  pleasing  intelligence  of  the 
arrival  in  America  of  a  family  in  which"  they  felt  a  great 
interest,  and  from  which  they  had  been  long  separated. 
Mr.  Augustus  Gordon  had  lived  with  his  wife  and  children 
in  Europe,  many  years  in  diplomatic  situations,  and  by 
some  remarkably  strange  accident  was  permitted  to  retain 
them  in  the  various  changes  of  administration,  which,  in  the 
interim,  had  occurred;  and  he  certainly  never  ceased  spec- 
ulating upon  this  anomaly  in  his  career,  and  never  fully 
comprehended  it.  Some  one  suggested  to  him  the  proba- 
bility that  his  government  had  forgotten  him. 

At  last,  came  the  hour  of  his  recall,  and  he  was  replaced 
by  another  minister.  He  had  fortunately  possessed  a  small 
patrimony,  or  he  would  have  revisited  his  native  land  a 
beggar.  His  salary  having  been  entirely  insufficient  for  the 
support  of  a  wife  and  family,  he  had  consequently  encroached 
upon  his  own  small  fortune,  and  thus  he  found  himself 
without  any  advancement  in  his  profession  —  a  legal  one 
—  and  with  limited  means,  thrown  upon  the  wide  world 
once  more. 

It  is  a  subject  for  grave  speculation  for  all  travelled 
Americans,  how  men  can  be  found  willing  to  accept  these 
diplomatic  missions.     In  many  cases,  it  may  arise   from 


OF  BOSTON.  121 

sheer  ignorance  of  what  they  will  be  obliged  to  endure  on 
reaching  their  destination.  Seduced  by  the  outfit,  which  is  a 
mere  trifle,  they  find  the  salary,  on  their  arrival,  just  covers 
their  house-rent  in  the  great  cities  of  Europe  —  if  house 
they  have  —  and  their  lives  are  passed  in  petty  mortifi- 
cations and  annoyances.  And  these  are  duplicated  if  men 
carry  their  wives  with  them ;  there  being  no  republican 
simplicity  of  attire  for  women  in  courts,  they  must  dress, 
and  dress  well,  or  stay  at  home,  which  many  of  them  do. 
There  is  no  reason  why  America  should  not  be  properly 
represented  at  her  embassys,  as  well  as  other  nations,  and 
there  is  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  increase  the  salaries  of 
her  Ministers — and  teach  them  French. 

The  Gordons  had  won  their  way  along  —  he  with  great 
learning  and  talent,  she  with  tact  and  good-nature  —  and 
they  had  been  obliged  to  make  sad  inroads  into  their  own 
small  property,  and  had  only,  after  this  sacrifice,  lived  very 
quietly  indeed.  They  felt  the  necessity  of  economizing  in 
their  situation  much  more  than  they  would  otherwise  have 
done,  as  it  prevented  their  offering  to  their  countrymen  hos- 
pitalities which  would  have  very  much  gladdened  both  par- 
ties. Indeed,  Mr.  Gordon  often  asserted  that  he,  in  his  long 
residence  abroad,  had  never  seen  one  American,  who,  when 
he  beheld  the  state  of  things,  so  mean  and  denuded,  con- 
trasted with  that  of  other  powers,  did  not  loudly  declare  it 
must  be  changed,  but  opined  he  forgot  all  about  it  on  his 
return  home. 

When  the  Gordons  revisited  their  country,  they  entered 
their  oldest  son  at  the  law  school,  and,  as  Mr.  Gordon  in- 
tended publishing  an  important  legal  work,  he  thought  they 
should  find  Cambridge  an  agreeable  residence,  and  so  they 
did.  There  is  a  remarkable  equality  and  evenness  in  the 
condition  of  all  the  society  connected  with  the  university, 
which  completely  extinguishes  all  striving  for  what  is  per- 
petually in  the  mouths  of  our  people  —  style  and  fashion  — 
these  two  unattainable  things  being  scrambled  for  by  one 
11 


122  THE    BARCLAYS 

part  of  our  population  and  railed  against  by  the  other.  The 
latter  raise  a  great  outcry  and  opposition,  and  are  asked  by 
those,  who  really  have  seen  the  things,  where  they  are  to 
be  found.  To  those  who  desire  information  pleasantly  con- 
veyed, the  revelations  of  that  most  amiable  and  excellent 
deceased  pastor,  Mr.  Colman,  in  his  valuable  Avork,  will 
truthfully  and  fairly  exhibit  what  is  meant  by  these  two 
sadly  misapplied  words.  The  all-important  basis  of  style 
and  fashion  being  service,  and  we  having  none,  as  such, 
it  necessarily  follows  that  the  pinchbeck  substituted  is  pinch- 
beck indeed,  and  the  alarmists,  who  deplore  its  real  presence 
in  our  midst,  are  wofully  mistaken.  There  is  something 
very  attractive  in  the  transplantation  of  the  simple-hearted 
clergyman,  from  his  own  solid  and  substantial  mode  of  life, 
which  is,  as  yet,  thank  Heaven,  dominant  in  Massachusetts, 
to  the  lordly  palaces  and  castellated  halls  of  England ;  and 
the  glowing  pictures  he  has  given  us  of  what  he  saw,  are 
sketched  with  great  exactitude.  The  book  might  be  made  of 
incalculable  advantage  in  this  country,  and  if  read  aright, 
would  teach  us  the  extreme  folly  of  aping  ducal  establish- 
ments, with  sixty  real  servants,  in  houses  of  twenty-five  feet 
front,  and  six  '  help.'  We  are  indisputably  a  discontented, 
aspiring  race,  and  if  we  adopted  some  less  ambitious  stand- 
ard in  our  own  households  than  that  of  the  nobility  of  proud 
Albion  with  their  princely  fortunes,  we  should  become,  in 
process  of  time,  both  wiser  and  happier.  England,  with  her 
long  line  of  ancestry,  her  wealth  and  entailed  estates,  does 
the  thing,  and  does  it  gloriously  :  whereas,  our  prominent 
short-comings  are  both  absurd  and  ridiculous.  Let  every 
true-hearted  American  woman  look  to  this,  and  govern  her- 
self accordingly ;  let  her  resist  all  innovations  which  cannot 
consistently  be  carried  out;  let  the  means  and  end  agree, 
and  she  will  do  more  good  in  her  day  and  generation  than 
she  will  ever  effect  by  aspiring  to  command  ships  of  war, 
and  lifting  U45  her  small  and  weak  voice  in  the  Senate  of 
these  United  States. 


OF   BOSTON.  123 

The  Gordons,  fresh  from  the  splendor  and  magnificence 
of  foreign  courts,  preferred  the  quiet  simplicity  of  a  Cam- 
bridge life  to  the  more  pretentious  and  hurried  one  of  a  city. 
They  had  a  fellow-feeling  for  the  professors  of  the  Univer- 
sity, whom  they  considered  to  be  as  badly  paid  as  they 
themselves  had  been,  their  salaries  being  as  objectionably 
small.  There  are  collected  together  in  Harvard  University, 
a  band  of  men,  remarkable  for  their  various  accomplish- 
ments and  great  attainments,  but  in  nothing  more  than  their 
spirited  devotion  to  their  Alma  Mater;  and,  during  the 
Gordons'  stay  in  Cambridge,  several  of  these  professors 
were  offered  double  their  salaries  and  houses  annexed,  if 
they  would  leave  for  other  scats  of  learning,  and  refused. 
Of  all  the  noble  endowments  made  to  the  oldest  institution 
in  America,  nothing  has  been  given  for  the  enlargement  of 
the  incomes  of  men  who  devote  their  energies  and  lives  to 
it  with  such  enthusiastic  devotion.  They  should  certainly 
be  absolved  from  all  the  petty  annoyances  attendant  upon 
small  and  insufficient  means. 

Much  of  the  pleasure  incidental  to  a  Cambridge  residence 
depends  upon  those  who  reign  in  the  Presidential  mansion  ; 
and  the  Gordons  were  peculiarly  fortunate  in  finding  a  large 
family,  whose  cultivated  tastes,  refined  habits  of  thought  and 
feeling,  combined  with  purity  of  heart  and  charm  of  manner, 
quite  captivated  them. 

Mrs,  Gordon  was,  at  first,  kept  in  constant  commotion  by 
the  incomings  and  outgoings  of  the  '  help.'  She  behaved 
admirably ;  but  having  been  exempted  for  so  many  years 
•from  these  annoyances,  she  resolved  to  take  high  ground 
when  they  endeavored  to  intimidate  her  by  threats  of  imme- 
diate departure,  and  dismiss  them  on  the  instant.  This,  in 
the  end,  proved  quite  effectual.  The  result  of  her  experi- 
ences in  this  chapter  of  her  life  was  sufficiently  character- 
istic to  be  narrated. 

Mrs.  Gordon  having  been  recommended  by  her  friends 
not  to  employ,  in  any  event,  an  Irish  servant,  she  accord- 


124  THE    BARCLAYS 

ingly  inclining  to  her  own  people,  determined  to  engage 
only  American  '  help  ; '  and  as  she  had  returned  home  with 
an  earnest  desire  never  to  eat  another  '  made  dish,'  she  im- 
agined she  might  probably  discover  a  good  plain  cook.  Her 
first  essay  commenced  with  a  young  lady,  who  sentimentally 
informed  her  that  '  the  dream  of  her  life  was  the  possession 
of  a  turtle-shell-comb,  a  linen  cambric  collar,  and,  may  be, 
a  pair  of  long  kid  gloves  !  '  What  the  damsel  required  the 
comb  for,  Mrs.  Gordon  could  not  well  comprehend,  seeing 
that  her  head  was  nearly  bald.  Three  days  after  her  advent, 
she  rushed  into  the  library,  where  Mrs.  Gordon  was  sitting 
absorbed  in  a  new  book,  and  most  summarily  commanded 
her  to  dismiss  her  waiter,  James,  declaring  indignantly,  that 
'  he  had  been  too  sweet  upon  her.'  On  being  asked  in  what 
way,  she  replied,  he  had  dared  to  call  her  '  My  dear  !  '  She 
was  informed  she  might  immediately  depart. 

The  next  venture,  in  nearly  the  same  space  of  time,  per- 
petrated a  similar  act,  with  this  difference  —  the  man  James 
was  declared,  in  the  most  violent  language,  to  be  the  '  cross- 
es! wretch  ever  seen  ! '  She  was  invited  to  follow  her  culi- 
nary predecessor.  The  third  on  the  list  entered  the  house, 
retired  to  her  bed,  and  remained  two  consecutive  days  in  an 
apparently  felichous  snooze.  The  fourth  quarrelled  with  all 
and  several,  excepting  the  man  James,  whom  she  rather 
patronized,  but  he  abhorred  her.  The  fifth  was  extremely 
disgusted  that  the  family  should  speak  any  English,  she 
vowing  '  the  only  recommendation  it  had  in  her  eyes,'  (she 
meant  ears,)  '  Avas  the  hope  that  she  might  catch  from  it  the 
French  language,'  she  having  preparatorily  armed  herself 
with  a  remarkably  thin  pamphlet,  purporting  to  teach  that 
pleasant  tongue  in  six  lessons,  without  fail.  The  sixth  came 
cityward  for  sea  air,  lobsters  and  clams  ;  and  the  seventh 
informed  Mrs.  Gordon  '  that,  for  a  woman  who  pretended  to 
have  seen  furrin  parts,  she  liked  remarkably  plain  fare.' 
Now,  not  one  of  these  errant  misses  had  entered  the  house 
with  the  remotest  idea  of  obeying  its  mistress  in  any  one 


OF    BOSTON.  125 

thing,  or  remaining  a  moment  beyond  her  own  capricious 
will,  —  kitchen  rangers  all ! 

There  is  something  so  totally  repugnant  to  all  service  in 
the  American  breast,  that  it  is  perfectly  wonderful  our  peo- 
ple ever  attempt  such  an  obnoxious  operation.  In  a  country 
where  every  man  is  looking  forward  to  being  President  of 
the  United  States,  and  every  woman  may  be  his  wife,  it  is 
wholly  impossible  for  service,  in  any  liberal  acceptation  of 
the  term,  to  exist ;  and  whatever  doubts  Mrs.  Gordon  might 
have  had  on  the  subject  were  summarily  dispelled  by  dire 
experience. 

It  is  gravely  asserted,  that  the  organ  of  reverence  is 
absent,  on  leave,  in  American  heads ;  and  truly,  it  was  no- 
where to  be  found  in  the  above-described  New  England 
non-serving  company. 

All  things  come  to  an  end  in  the  magical  number  seven  ; 
so  by  the  time  Mrs.  Gordon's  list  had  reached  this  numeral, 
the  neck  of  her  native  Americanism  was  fairly  broken,  and 
she  then  presented  herself  a  holocaust  to  the  tender  mercies 
of  the  exiles  from  that  gem  of  the  sea,  the  Emerald  isle, 
and  certainly  never  regretted  the  measure.  From  that  be- 
nign period  she  enjoyed  a  quiet,  well-ordered  household,  nay, 
even  more,  an  attached  and  devoted  one,  and  could  never 
be  induced  to  confess  she  repented  her  abandonment  of 
her  own  people  —  as  '  help.' 

There  is  a  dreamy  sort  of  existence  attending  all  college 
life  ;  and  the  environs  of'  halls,'  cloistered  or  not,  are  redo- 
lent of  repose  and  quiet.  Mrs.  Gordon  often  marvelled  at 
the  absence  of  the  fine  manly  sports,  games  and  exercises 
she  had  beheld  in  other  climes,  when  she  saw  the  numerous 
students  taking  only  short  and  often  solitary  walks,  looking 
as  if  they  were  '  dragging  their  slow  lengths  along,'  from  a 
sense  of  the  imperative  necessity  of  some  sort  of  exercise, 
or  an  apology  for  it,  rather  than  its  actual  enjoyment.  She 
renewed  her  intimacy  with  the  Barclays  ;  and,  entering  into 
it  with  great  zest,  derived  much  pleasure  from  her  occa- 
U* 


126  THE    BARCLAYS 

sional  visits  to  Boston  and  their  agreeable  home,  where  a 
warm  welcome  ever  awaited  her,  their  manner  of  living 
being  very  congenial  to  her  tastes  and  views.  She  vainly 
sought  in  other  houses  for  the  pleasant  evenings  of  the  con- 
tinent, where,  without  form  and  ceremony,  friends  meet  and 
partake  of  social  interchange  of  feeling  and  sentiment,  and 
love  each  other  the  better  for  it.  She  regretted  this  state  of 
things  all  the  more  that  her  own  limited  means  would  not 
admit  of  the  expenses  attendant  on  grand  entertainments  ; 
and  she  perceived  that  she  should  not  be  able  to  dispense 
any  hospitality  whatever,  if  she  did  not,  on  her  return  to 
Boston,  exercise  more  moral  courage  than  she  was  aware  of 
possessing. 


OF    BOSTON.  1-27 


CHAPTER  XV. 


'  In  faith  and  hope  the  world  ■will  disagree, 
But  all  mankind's  concern  is  charity.' 

Pope. 

*  I  SAW  this  morning,'  said  Mr.  Richard  Barclay,  *  an  im- 
mense quantity  of  barrels  of  flour,  sugar  and  coffee,  with 
many  boxes  of  tea  and  other  things,  tumbled  into  your  cellar, 
brother  John.     Are  you  proposing  to  open  a  grocery  shop  ?  ' 

This  question  was  asked  one  day,  just  about  the  blessed 
Christmas  and  Thanksgiving  time.  Mr.  Barclay,  looking 
slily  at  his  wife,  replied,  '  Not  exactly,  Richard  ;  at  least, 
there  will  be  no  pay.  Catherine  has  a  bad  Avay  of  never 
sending  any  beggar  from  the  door ;  and  as  she  never  gives 
money,  I  think  buying  these  staple  commodities  by  the 
wholesale  decidedly  the  most  economical  plan.' 

*  Nonsense ! '  replied  Mr.  Richard  ;  '  there  can  be  no 
worse  way  adopted  of  dispensing  charity  than  giving  to 
street-beggars  ;  'tis  against  all  rules.  I  am  astonished,  Mrs. 
Barclay,  that  a  woman  of  your  sense  should ' 

'  Please  stop,'  interrupted  the  lady  addressed.  *  Whenever 
you  commence  a  speech  to  me,  brother  Richard,  with  that 
prescribed  formula,  I  am  always  perfectly  sure  you  think 
me  remarkably  silly  ;  so  I  will  e'en  save  you  the  trouble  of 
pronouncing  such  a  verdict,  and  confess  myself  guilty,  to 
satisfy  you  ! ' 

'  All  political  economy  condemns  totally  such  weak  pro- 
ceedings, my  sister.' 

*  My  head,  brother,  has  never  been  able  to  receive  these 
dicta ;  you  well  know  I  never  had  any  capacity  for  abstruse 


128  THE    BARCLAYS 

sciences,  and  I  sum  up  in  one  word   political  economy,  and 
call  it  hard-heartedness.'' 

'  Hear  her,  John,  I  j)ray.' 

'  Yes,  I  hear  very  well,'  answered  Mr.  Barclay  ;  '  but 
when  you  get  a  wife,  Dick,  you  will  find  it  much  better  to 
let  her  have  her  own  way  in  some  things.' 

'  My  wife  shall  never  give  to  street-beggars,  John.' 

'  When  shall  we  see  this  rara  avis,  uncle  !  '  queried 
Grace. 

'  Your  wife,  Richard,  will  then  never  be  wrong,'  said  Mrs. 
Barclay,  '  as  those  who  never  give  can  never  be  deceived. 
Now  I  would  much  prefer  to  be  cheated  twenty  times  by 
false  pretences,  than  lose  the  chance  of  serving  one  really 
distressed  person,  deserving  or  not.  I  very  well  compre- 
hend that  this  is  against  all  that  is  laid  down  in  the  books, 
but  the  heart  is  often  as  good  a  guide  as  the  lucubrations  of 
frigid  reasoners.  My  kind  husband,  at  least,  throws  no  ob- 
stacles in  my  way.  I  was  brought  up  to  give  ;  my  mother 
did  so  before  me.' 

'  A  bad  bringing  up,'  said  Mr.  Richard. 

'  Of  which  your  brotlicr  has  enjoyed  all  the  disadvantages, 
just  as  our  people  say  they  enjoy  a  bad  state  of  health.^ 

'  Women  never  know  how  to  reason,'  said  uncle  Richard, 
'  and  never  will.' 

'  Not  even  your  wife,  that  is  to  be  ?  '  said  the  Dolly. 

'  Let  her  open  her  lips  if  she  dare,'  said  he. 

'  I'll  teach  her,'  said  Georgy. 

Uncle  Richard  held  up  a  threatening  finger  or  two. 

'  I  confess,'  resumed  Mrs.  Barclaj-,  '  that  my  deepest 
sympathies  are  not  aroused  for  merely  the  poorly  poor ; 
they  incline  vastly  towards  the  class  that  has  seen  better 
days.  Physical  sufie rings,  that  can  be  relieved  with  a  bit  of 
bread,  have  not  the  same  weight  with  me  as  moral  ones  ; 
and  all  my  exertions  are  made  for  the  poverty  that  hides  its 
abashed  head.  The  head  that  was  once  uplifted  as  high  as 
any  in  the  land,  now  fallen  by  the  adverse  fortunes  of  com- 


OF    BOSTON.  129 

mercial  ventures,  fills  my  heart  with  compassion,  and  many 
a  one  there  is.  My  life  has  not  yet  reached  its  common 
verge,  and  yet  what  changes  have  I  not  seen  !  ' 

'  Well,'  said  Mr.  Barclay, '  I  think  it  always  best  to  leave 
the  hearts  to  the  women  ;  they  will  have  them  whether  we 
will  or  no  ;  and  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  we  are  any  the  bet- 
ter for  being  so  scientific  in  our  charitable  operations,  or  so 
overwise  in  our  generation.' 

'  The  best  method  is,  for  all  people  who  have  tender  con- 
sciences, to  follow  out  their  own  devices,'  said  Mrs.  Barclay. 
'  Those  who  have  not,  may  require  "  flappers,"  and  socie- 
ties are  excellently  well  adapted  for  them.  Many  would  do 
nothing  if  they  could  not  associate  themselves  with  others 
for  benevolent  purposes  ;  the  thing  is,  to  do  good.  We  hold 
various  ideas  on  this  subject ;  but  if  we  all  resolve  to  do  our 
work  upon  earth  well,  it  does  not  much  signify  hoic.  It  is 
much  the  same  with  different  sects  and  religious  creeds  ; 
faith  and  works  lead  to  the  same  haven  at  last,  however  we 
may  disagree  as  to  the  roads.' 

This  was  a  season  of  great  and  pure  enjoyment  to  the 
young  people  of  this  family.  They  were  the  almoners,  and 
were  daily  packed  by  their  mother  in  a  hackney  coach,  — 
she  would  not  permit  her  own  carriage  to  be  used,  lest  it 
might  be  known,  —  and  with  Nursey  Bristow,  carried  all 
manner  of  delicacies  and  substantial  comforts  belonging  to 
this  blessed  season  to  the  very  quarters  where  her  interests 
were  centred.  They  always  left  the  vehicle  at  some  dis- 
tance from  the  house,  and  creeping  quietly  along,  with  their 
baskets  and  packages,  just  pushed  them  in  at  the  doors  and 
instantly  retreated.  Nothing  could  exceed  the  dexterity 
with  which  they  executed  their  missions,  and  certainly 
nothing  surpassed  the  happiness  they  enjoyed,  except  that 
which  they  imparted.  Many  in  this  way  received  relief, 
who  would  not  for  worlds  have  had  the  fact  known,  but  who, 
nevertheless,  were  intensely  grateful.  The  certainty  of  pos- 
sessing unknown  friends  is  a  source  of  great  happiness  and 


130  THE    BARCLAYS 

contentment  to  broken  fortunes  and  spirits  preserving  self- 
respect  under  adverse  circumstances. 

Mrs.  Barclay  diverted  Uncle  Richard  from  his  projected 
controversy  by  informing  him  of  the  (to  her)  joyful  intelli- 
gence, that  the  Gordons  were  about  to  leave  Cambridge  and 
to  settle  in  Boston,  and  had  taken  a  house  that  very  day  in 
her  own  neighborhood.  To  this  Mr.  Richard  assented  with 
all  his  heart.  He  had  a  great  admiration  for  Mrs.  Gordon, 
and  her  husband  was  an  old  friend  of  his  ;  so  the  arrange- 
ment pleased  him  exceedingly. 

A  few  weeks  saw  that  family  comfortably  instaJled  in  a 
pretty  dwelling,  not  very  large,  but  filled  with  works  of  art 
and  taste,  collected  during  a  long  residence  in  foreign  lands. 
Mrs.  Barclay  claimed  Clara  as  her  guest  during  the  transi- 
tion state,  and  would  gladly  have  had  all  the  members  of  the 
family,  but  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gordon  could  not  consent  to  such 
an  invasion. 

Clara  they  found  a  charming  inmate,  remarkably  well 
educated  and  very  accomplished  —  enthusiastic  and  warm- 
hearted. The  demonstrations  of  her  affections  were  very 
decided,  and  seemed  almost  unreal,  from  their  ardent  char- 
acter ;  but  Avere  notwithstanding  perfectly  sincere  and  con- 
stant. The  younger  members  of  the  family  were  devoted 
to  her,  and  on  leaving  them  she  expressed  her  warmest  ac- 
knowledgments for  the  hospitality  and  kindness  she  had 
received.  Mrs.  Gordon  was  soon  visited  by  all  the  nota- 
bilities of  the  city,  and  invited  to  many  balls  and  a  few 
dinners. 

To  the  latter  she  was  happy  to  go,  but  the  former  rather 
militated  against  all  her  preconceived  ideas  of  pleasure. 
Still,  as  she  had  lived  long  abroad,  and  had  there  contracted 
fixed  opinions,  she  was  not  willing  that  her  daughter  should 
make  her  entrance  into  society  without  the  protection  of  her 
mother,  and,  consequently,  resolved  to  accompany  her. 
She  had  beheld  with  amazement,  that  none  of  her  own  con- 
temporaries ever  went  into  the  gay  world  with  their  daugh- 


OF    BOSTON. 


131 


ters,  and  had  condemned  their  practice  of  remaining  at 
home.  She  had  remonstrated,  and  had  been  told  that  they 
were  not  even  invited.  To  be  sure,  her  friends  informed 
her  she  was  asked  because  she  had  declared  she  would  not 
allow  Clara  to  go  without  her,  and  that  a  fashion  existed 
from  which  there  was  hardly  any  deviation,  of  leaving  out 
the  mothers  who  had  daughters,  and  asking  the  women  who 
had  none  —  an  even  distribution  of  party  favors,  which  Mrs. 
Gordon  had  great  difficulty  in  comprehending.  Indeed,  she 
hardly  knew  what  to  make  of  such  a  state  of  things.  And 
truly  her  first  ball  was  melancholy  enough.  About  half  a 
dozen  women  with  the  hostess,  composed  the  matrons ;  the 
rest  of  the  immense  crowd  were  children  —  or  what  she  had 
always  considered  as  such  in  Europe  —  half  a  dozen  old 
bachelors,  who  liked  to  be  seen  in  youthful  society,  and 
hardly  any  other  men  ;  of  boys  there  was  no  end.  As  she  was 
beautifully  dressed  in  her  foreign  gear,  and,  moreover,  ex- 
tremely animated,  an  amiable  youth,  the  son  of  one  of  her 
friends,  invited  her  to  dance.  She  answered  this  request 
by  saying,  '  My  dear,  if  you  will  find  a  partner  for  your 
mother,  I  will  accept  your  invitation  ; '  and,  as  she  laid  a 
peculiar  emphasis  on  the  affectionate  part  of  the  speech,  he 
retired  in  disgust. 

Meanwhile,  Clara,  a  very  pretty  and  engaging  girl,  simply 
attired,  attracted  no  attention  whatever,  and  with  a  number 
of  poor  young  creatures,  passed  the  evening  in  wishing  —  as 
she  could  not  dance  —  that  she  might  be  at  home.  Clara 
was  not  at  all  mortified  at  this  neglect,  for  she  imagined 
that  she  was  not  asked  to  dance  because  she  was  not  known, 
but  her  mother,  with  her  keen  perception,  discerned  the 
cause  immediately.  Clara  had  been  educated  to  follow,  and 
not  to  lead.  She  was  timid  and  retiring  in  her  manners 
amongst  strangers,  and,  therefore,  had  no  decided  air,  and 
was  thought  quite  a  failure  by  the  leaders  of  the  youthful 
ton ;  especially  so  when  the  great  advantages  she  had  en- 
joyed were  summed  up.     To  be  sure,  the  few  ladies  present 


132  THE    BARCLAYS 

thought  Clara  Gordon  charming,  and  Mrs,  Ashley  deter- 
mined to  present  some  of  her  young  friends  to  her ;  but 
these  minute  gentlemen  afterwards  declared  that  she  had  no 
conversation^  which  was,  assuredly,  most  true  as  far  as  they 
were  concerned,  being  entirely  ignorant  of  the  names  and 
qualities  of  the  guests. 

At  last  the  good-natured  and  indefatigable  widow  discov- 
ered an  '  American  Methusaleh  '  of  seven-and-twenty,  who, 
having  just  returned  from  Europe,  and,  of  course,  not  wish- 
ing to  dance,  was  willing  to  be  presented  to  a  young  lady 
who  had  travelled ;  so  Clara  had  an  escort  to  supper,  and 
shortly  after  returned  home,  declaring  the  only  pleasant 
thing  to  herself  respecting  the  ball  was  its  short  duration. 

'  Why,  mother,'  said  she,  '  we  went  at  ten  and  are  at 
home  at  twelve,  and  yet  the  whole  thing  seemed  infinitely 
longer  to  me  than  the  fetes  in  Europe,  where  I  have  re- 
mained eight  hours  and  more.' 

'  If  the  evening  seemed  long  to  you,  it  was  never-ending 
to  me,'  replied  Mrs.  Gordon.  '  I  really  and  truly  believe 
that  we  women  were  as  weary  of  the  sight  of  each  other  as 
we  could  possibly  be,  for  we  soon  exhausted  all  our  small 
talk,  and  the  noise  of  too  much  music  in  not  over-large 
rooms  drowned  every  thing  like  conversation.' 

'  How  I  wish  I  could  never  go  again,'  said  Clara. 

'But  you  must,  my  dear  daughter,  and  try  to  become 
acquainted  with  the  young  people  with  whom  you  are  to 
pass  your  life.' 

'  They  will  never  care  for  me,'  said  the  girl.  '  They  seem 
to  be  broken  up  into  sets  and  only  talk  to  each  other,  and 
I  —  having  no  subjects  in  common  with  them  —  shall  never 
get  on.' 

*  You  must  make  the  effort,  nevertheless,  my  dear  child.' 

'  I  will  do  as  you  bid  me,  mother ;  and  now,  good-night, 
for  I  am  half  asleep.' 

Mrs.  Gordon  communed  with  herself  long  after  her  child 
was  gone  :  she  thought  that,  perhaps,  it  would  have  been 


OF    BOSTON.  133 

better  if  she  bad  been  educated  in  ber  own  land  ;  but,  then, 
she  said  to  herself,  '  I  could  never  have  borne  to  see  my 
daughter  a  leader  of  fashion  before  she  was  nineteen,  ex- 
hausting life  ere  it  had  begun,  enjoying  no  childhood,  and 
losing  the  best  hours  of  her  existence  in  profitless  amuse- 
ments. Now  she  is  a  tolerably  good  scholar,  possesses  a 
few  accomplishments,  and  what  is  better  than  all  beside,  is 
docile,  obedient,  and  well-mannered.  I  will  not  then  com- 
plain, but  endeavor  to  reconcile  her  to  what,  from  my 
experience  of  to-night,  seems  to  be  her  destiny  here  — ■ 
unrecognised  good  qualities.  And  so  Mrs.  Gordon,  looking 
upon  herself  ver\'  much  in  the  light  of  a  martyr,  resolved  to 
accompany  her  daughter  into  the  picayune  world  of  fashion. 
The  next  evening  she  went  to  Mrs.  Barclay's  with  Clara. 
Soon  after  their  entrance,  Grace  asked  the  young  lady  how 
she  had  been  pleased  at  the  ball. 

'  Not  at  all,'  was  the  reply. 

'  How  very  extraordinary,'  exclaimed  Gracy,  '  I  thought 
every  body  enjoyed  balls  immensely.' 

'  I  certainly  did  not,  for  I  knew  no  one,  and,  as  all  the 
company,  which  was  almost  entirely  composed  of  extremely 
young  people,  took  very  little  note  of  me,  I  had  rather  a 
dull  evening,  and  enjoy  myself  much  more  here.  My 
mother  wishes  me  to  go  into  society,  that  I  may  not  seem 
alone  in  my  native  city ;  but  I  hope  she  will  soon  change 
her  mind  on  this  subject,  and  as  I  know  she  is  sacrificing 
herself  to  me,  the  sooner  she  does  the  better.' 

Kate,  who  heard  these  remarks,  cried,  '  What,  not  enjoy 
a  ball !  I  could  dance  forever  from  morning  till  night  and 
never  tire  of  the  delightful  amusement.  That  comes  of 
being  educated  abroad  :  you  are  spoiled  for  every  thing  in 
your  own  country.' 

'  Not  at  all,'  replied  Clara,  '  I  went  out  into  society  the 

winter   before   my  return  home,  for  the  first  time,  but  I 

always    sat  at    my   mother's   side.     She   was  the   point   of 

attraction;  she  was  the  belle  —  if  you  will.     The  men  only 

12 


134  THE    BARCLAYS 

danced  with  me  because  they  wished  to  please  her ;  they 
never  talked  with  me  ;  they  looked  upon  me  as  a  little 
bread-and-butter  girl,  and  I  was  all  the  time  really  pining 
to  get  home,  where  I  heard  the  girls  had  so  much  liberty 
and  such  fun.  You  know  I  never  was  permitted  even  to 
walk  out  alone  in  Europe  —  my  maid  always  accompanied 
me  ;  that  at  least  I  can  do  here,  and  enjoy  it  immensely. 
But,  it  seems,  that  if  there  I  was  too  young,  here  I  am  too 
old.' 

'  Well,'  said  Kate,  'you've  made  out  a  pretty  good  case, 
but  it  won't  deter  me  from  accepting  every  invitation  I  can 
procure.  Gracy  won't  go  into  society  because  Georgy  does 
not,  and  says  she  can  have  no  pleasure  independent  of  her 
sister.  They  ought  to  have  been  twins ;  it  was  a  great 
mistake,  but  just  let  me  get  a  chance,  and  my  mother's 
situation  as  a  chaperone  will  be  no  sinecure,  I  can  tell  you 
—  I  shall  lead  her  such  a  gay  life,  a  perfect  fandango  ! ' 

'  I  don't  think  Mrs.  Barclay  will  consider  it  in  the  same 
light,'  said  Clara,  '  if  she  is  not  to  enjoy  herself  any  more 
than  my  mother  did  at  Mrs.  Lorimer's  ball.  I  only  wonder 
why  they  called  it  hers,  for  she  did  not  seem  to  have  had 
a  chance  to  invite  more  than  a  dozen  of  her  own  friends 
and  contemporaries,  and  such  an  immense  crowd  too.' 

'  No  room,  my  dear,'  said  Kate,  '  no  room  for  old  people  ; 
they've  had  their  day,  and  must  clear  the  way  for  the 
young.' 

'  But  my  mother  was  not  considered  an  old  woman  in 
Europe.  She  was  quite  admired  and  sought  for  there,  but 
here  they  look  upon  her  as  an  antediluvian  —  fossil  remains, 
if  you  will.  She  is  clever  and  amusing,  and  across  the  waters 
they  think  a  vast  deal  of  such  things  —  they  like  to  be 
entertained.  I  think  my  mother  very  agreeable,  and  Mrs. 
Barclay  also  ;  indeed,  I  fancy  them  to  be  very  much  alike, 
and  imagine  they  must  have  been  so  from  childhood.' 

'  Mrs.   Ashley    is    the    only   woman,'    said    Grace,   '  who 


OF    BOSTON.  135 

always  gets  on  well ;  she  never  seems  to  lose  her  popularity  ; 
it  appeal's  she  will  never  be  considered  old.' 

'  Oh  yes,'  said  Clara,  '  that's  all  true ;  but  then  Mrs. 
Ashley  is  an  exception  to  all  rules ;  "  one  swallow  makes 
not  a  summer,"  Gracy.' 

'  Ah  ! '  cried  the  Dolly,  '  it's  young  America  rules  the 
land  now ;  every  person  over  seventeen  is  in  a  total  eclipse ; 
you  're  an  old,  old  maid,  Clara.  Just  let  me  break  forth 
upon  the  all-astounded  little  world  of  fashion,  and  you'll  see 
what  a  noise  I  shall  make  in  a  Maria  Louisa  blue  brocade, 
embroidered  in  pomegranate  blossoms  and  ditto  colored 
ribbons  to  match  in  my  bonnie  black  hair !  I  never,  never 
intend  to  renounce  the  hope  that  I  may  yet  possess  such  a 
divine  dress ;  and  let  me  once  have  it,  and  you  will  behold 
a  leader  such  as  the  round  globe  ne'er  saw.' 

'And  the  Chinese  tails  ! '  whispered  Grace,  slily. 

'  Oh  !  the  hideosities  !  ! '  said  the  Dolly,  at  the  same  time, 
bestowing  upon  the  offending  braids  a  terrible  twitch,  and 
waltzing  out  of  the  room. 


136  THE    BARCLAYS 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

*  I  'm  twenty-two,  I  'm  twenty-two. 
They  gaily  give  me  joy.' 

N.  P.  Willis. 

Mr.  Bradshaw,  '  the  American  Methusaleh/  who  had 
escorted  Clara  Gordon  to  the  supper-table  at  Mrs.  Lorimer's 
ball,  called  the  next  morning  upon  her.  He  was  twenty- 
seven  or  eight  years  old,  and  considered  by  all  the  assem- 
bled juvenilities  of  the  preceding  evening  as  verging  towards 
an  antediluvian  stage  of  existence.  This  gentleman  had 
been  travelling  in  Europe  with  great  advantage  to  himself, 
having  improved  his  time  judiciously.  He  was  a  sensible, 
well-educated  man;  a  thorough  American  in  all  his  feelings, 
and  opinions;  and  although  he  had  found,  in  other  climes, 
much  to  admire  and  approve,  and  regretted  the  absence  of 
many  pleasant  things  in  his  native  land,  yet  he  loved  his 
home,  and  the  soil  on  which  he  had  drawn  his  first  breath 
was  dear  to  him.  Here  were  centred  his  heart's  affections 
and  sympathies.  He  had,  however,  one  great  defect;  he 
was  vastly  sententious  and  very  prosy.  Mr.  Bradshaw  was 
not  a  very  demonstrative  person,  and  the  picayunes  thought 
him  dull,  and  did  not  hesitate  to  call  him  so.  He  had 
imagined,  pretty  much  as  Mrs.  Gordon  had  done,  that  it 
was  fitting  and  proper  for  him  to  show  himself,  lest  he  might 
be  accused  of  neglecting  his  friends  for  foreign  reminiscen- 
ces. So  he  sallied  forth,  and,  after  two  or  three  children's 
balls  and  experiences  amidst  the  disbanded  nurseries,  he 
had  resolved  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  make  any 
more  sacrifices  in  that  way,  when  he  made  the  acquaintance 


OF    BOSTON.  137 

of  Miss  Gordon,  and  that  event  changed  his  determination 
of  abandoning  the  little  world  of  fashion.  Mr.  Bradshaw 
was  much  struck  with  her  quiet  and  ladylike  manners,  her 
deferential  bearing  towards  her  mother  especially  ;  and  his 
farther  intercourse  confirmed  his  first  impressions.  He  was 
convinced  that  the  best  thing  a  man  can  do  in  America  is  to 
marry,  otherwise,  knowing  not  how  to  pass  his  evenings,  he 
may  fall  into  club  habits ;  and  so  Mr.  Bradshaw,  without 
being  desperately  enamored,  and  perfectly  able  to  give  his 
future  wife  a  pleasant  establishment,  decided  that  he  would 
pay  his  court  to  Miss  Gordon,  and  forthwith  commenced 
operations.  Now  this  sort  of  beginning  is  never  generally 
very  successful,  the  suitor  entirely  mistaking  the  character 
of  the  object  of  his  admiration,  and  beholding  in  her  a 
composed  and  self-possessed  manner,  fancied  her  to  be 
well-balanced  mentally,  and  not  remarkably  impressible ; 
but  '  under  still  waters  currents  lie,'  and  little  wotted  he  of 
their  existence  when  he  made  up  his  mind  touching  the 
character  of  Clara  Gordon. 

The  restrictions  to  which  the  young  girl  had  been  sub- 
jected during  her  European  life  had  left  their  impress,  and, 
though  having  been  two  years  in  the  land  of  liberty,  she 
still  submitted  her  most  trifling  actions  to  her  mother,  and, 
as  Mr.  Bradshaw  saw  more  of  her,  he  was  astonished,  at 
the  same  time  greatly  approving,  to  observe  this  respect  and 
deference.  The  gentleman  naturally  concluding  that  such 
an  obedient  daughter  would  make  an  equally  compliant 
helpmate,  was  enchanted  to  have  made  the  discovery  of 
such  a  treasure,  and  determined  to  avail  himself  of  it  im- 
mediately. Meanwhile  the  object  of  his  mild  passion  was 
wholly  unconscious  of  her  conquest.  She  perceived  that  Mr. 
Bradshaw  sought  her  constantly,  that  he  was  ever  hovering 
near  her,  but  this  state  of  things  she  attributed  wholly  to 
their  mutually  isolated  condition  ;  that  he  sympathized  with 
her  on  her  loneliness  in  the  balls  she  acknowledged,  but 
then  '  fellow-feeling  makes  us  wondrous  kind,'  and  he  really 
12* 


138  THE    BARCLAYS 

had  so  few  persons  to  whom  he  could  speak,  that  he  was 
actually  driven  to  take  refuge  with  her. 

One  morning,  at  breakfast,  Mrs.  Gordon  said  to  her 
daughter,  '  I  am  excessively  weary  of  holding  up  the  walls 
at  these  apochryphal  festivities,  Clara,  and  having  exhausted 
all  iny  small  talk  with  the  very  few  unfortunate  mothers, 
who,  in  my  predicament,  have  decided  they  must  accom- 
pany their  young  progeny  the  first  season,  I  have  marked 
out  to  myself  a  plan  which  I  propose  to  pursue.  I  have 
peered  about,  and,  in  my  explorations,  discovered  that  in  all 
the  houses  we  frequent  there  are  sundry  nooks,  crannies  and 
corners,  in  which  are  secreted  some  card-tables,  to  which  a 
few  superannuated  worthies  resort  in  order  to  kill  their  long 
evenings.  I  intend  to  present  myself  as  an  applicant  for 
the  honor  of  making  a  hand  at  whist  with  these  aforesaid 
octogenarians.  They  will  be  half  frightened  out  of  their 
wits  by  my  humble  request,  I  know,  but  1  don't  care  a  rush 
about  that.  I  must,  if  I  keep  my  promise,  and  my  word  is 
as  good  as  my  bond,  do  something,  and  shall  therefore 
adopt  the  "  old  lady-like  accomplishment "  of  whist.' 

'  But,  my  dear  mother,'  interposed  Clara,  '  you  know  next 
to  nothing  of  the  game ;  they'll  not  accept  you,  I'm  afraid, 
and,  really,  I  wish  you  would  not  sacrifice  yourself  to  me, 
for  I  had  much  rather  go  to  the  Barclays  any  time.' 

'  Never  mind,  my  child  ;  I  promised  to  go  out  this  season, 
and  have,  at  last,  devised  a  plan  to  make  my  martyrdom 
palatable  by  learning  whist ;  so  do  you  purchase  for  me, 
this  very  day,  the  best  and  most  recondite  treatise  you  can 
discover  in  the  city  of  Boston,  on  this  important  science, 
and  I  shall  begin  this  evening  at  Mrs.  Allen's,  —  I  beg  her 
pardon,  —  Miss  Allen's  ball.  I  know  that  I  must  not  trump 
my  partner's  trick,  and  that  I  must  play  the  third  hand  high, 
and  the  rest  shall  come  by  intuition.' 

'  I  pity  your  partners,  my  mother ;  they  will  be  obliged  to 
exercise  an  immense  deal  of  patience  ;  and  another  impor- 
tant thing,  how  will  you  be  able  to  keep  silent  ? ' 


OF    BOSTON.  139 

'  You're  a  saucy  thing,  —  I've  great  confidence  in  my 
own  resources.' 

That  evening,  then,  having  been  provided  with  the  trea- 
tise, and  having  looked  it  carefully  over  while  her  maid  was 
dressing  her  hair,  Mrs.  Gordon  found  a  partner,  and  be- 
stowed herself  in  a  small  room  at  the  top  of  the  stairs,  and 
abandoning  her  place  at  her  daughter's  side,  it  was  imme- 
diately occupied  by  'the  Methusaleh'  who  was  sedulously 
watching  all  their  movements.  Miss  Jane  Redmond  occa- 
sionally condescended  to  peep  out  from  the  loop-hole  of 
her  retreat,  influenced  by  her  overweening  curiosity  respect- 
ing the  affairs  of  the  world,  and  preferring,  on  some  mo- 
mentous occasions,  to  say  I  smo  to  I  heard.  She  was 
generally  invited,  though  considered  to  have  passed  her 
grand  climacteric  entirely ;  but  she  had  contrived  to  inspire 
the  picayunes  with  such  a  wholesome  terror  of  her  tongue 
and  its  animadversions,  that  they  thought  it  much  the  best 
plan  to  keep  the  peace  with  her ;  and,  as  they  invited  Mrs. 
Ashley  for  her  agreeable  qualities,  so  they  asked  Miss  Red- 
mond for  her  disagreeable  ones.  In  fact,  they  were  all 
horridly  afraid  of  her. 

Jane  strolled  up  to  Clara,  who  was  standing,  guarded  by 
]\Ir.  Bradshaw,  and  begged  leave  to  present  to  her  acquaint- 
ance Mr.  Hugh  Maxwell,  and  then  disappeared.  And  a 
handsome  bright-eyed  and  mischievous  looking  person  was 
this  young  gentleman,  and  being  very  gay  and  animated,  he 
entered  forthwith  into  a  half  confidential  conversation. 
After  inquiring  how  she  liked  America,  —  for  he  said  he  had 
a  right  to  ask  this  national  question,  she  having  lived  so 
long  out  of  her  country  must  be  regarded  in  the  light  of 
a  stranger,  —  he  begged  to  excite  her  compassion.  '  Look  at 
me,  pray,  Miss  Gordon,  and  commiserate  my  forlorn  con- 
dition, "I'm  twenty-two,  I'm  twenty-two,"  and  like  "the 
last  rose  of  summer  am  left  blooming  alone ;  my  mates  of 
the  garden  lie  scentless  and  dead  ; "  that  is.  Miss  Gordon,  the 
plain  unvarnished  English,  for  every  man  I  know  having 


140  THE    BARCLAYS 

taken  unto  himself  a  spouse.     If  you  but  knew  how  solitary 
and  wretched  I  am,  pity  me,  I  conjure  you.' 

Miss  Gordon  admitted  that  his  sad  case  demanded  sym- 
pathy. 

*  Alas  ! '  said  he,  '  miserable  enough  am  I,  without  a  friend 
in  the  world  !  They  are  all  occupied  with  their  babies,  and 
have  no  leisure  to  bestow  upon  such  a  wretch  of  an  old 
bachelor  as  I  —  oh  !  Miss  Gordon  bestow  one  sympathizing 
glance  upon  me.  Pve  a  claim  "  on  a  blink  of  your  e'en," 
for  I  made  the  excruciating  exertion  of  adorning  myself 
this  evening  for  the  sole  and  express  purpose  of  being  pre- 
sented to  you.  You  perceive  that  your  fame  has  reached 
my  hermit's  cell ;  "  turn,  Angelina,  ever  dear,"  and  hear 
that  I  propose  to  be  your  slave  just  so  long  as  you  show 
yourself  in  "  the  gay  and  festal  halls ; "  for  I  honor  your 
moral  courage.  Ages  gone  by  I  made  my  appearance  in 
the  fashionable  world,  with  a  deliciously  charming  band, 
garlanded  together  with  wreaths  of  perfumed  flowers,  of 
which  not  one  remains.  I  beheld  them  disappear  in  agony 
of  spirit,  and  then  retreated  myself,  —  for  what  could  I  do? 
The  places  that  knew  them  once,  know  them  no  more,  and 
in  their  stead  several  generations  have  flourished.' 

'  What  melancholy  reminiscenses,'  said  Clara,  quite 
amused  by  her  companion's  nonsense  ;  but  Mr.  Bradshaw, 
who  detested  nonsense,  looked  unutterable  things  at  Mr. 
Hugh  Maxwell,  and  certainly  wished  him  back  in  his  her- 
mitage. 

*  But,'  said  Mr.  Maxwell,  '  you  have  not  yet  inquired  how 
I  was  particularly  informed  of  your  advent  in  these  fasci- 
nating latitudes,  Miss  Gordon.' 

'  You  have  a  sister,  I  perceive,'  said  Clara,  regarding  a 
most  fragile  young  thing  whom  she  had  always  observed  to 
be  dancing  with  a  small  boy,  to  whom  she  had  heard  she 
was  affianced. 

'  Even  so.  Miss  Gordon  ;  but  will  you  promise  not  to  be 


OF    BOSTON.  141 

offended  if  I  just  venture  to  hint  how  I  collected  this,  to  me, 
invaluable  information  ?  ' 

*  I  will  assuredly  promise  not  to  be  offended,  Mr.  Max- 
well.' 

'  Well,  then,  be  it  known  to  the  travelled  and  accom- 
plished lady,  that  this  very  morning  I  was  asking  my  little 
relative  how  the  war  was  carried  on  in  her  own  peculiar 
circle  ;  and,  after  giving  me  the  history  of  the  divers  en- 
gagements existing  between  all  these  children  now  jumping 
up  and  down  before  us,  Miss  Carrie  Maxwell,  that  is,  my 
respected  sister,  declared  that  all  things  were  proceeding 
harmoniously.  But,  I  rejoined,  have  you  no  old  people 
about  now?  and  she  answered  very  few,  indeed,  only  two. 
I  inquired  the  names  and  styles  of  the  victimized  pair,  and 
she  replied  —  Now,  Miss  Gordon,  will  you  promise  solemnly 
not  to  be  offended  ?  ' 

'  I  promise,'  said  Clara. 

'Well,  then,  she  replied,  —  my  sister,  I  mean,  —  she 
answered  that  the  only  old  people  about  were  —  Miss  Jane 
Redmond  and  —  Miss  Clara  Gordon.' 

Upon  this  revelation,  such  a  ringing  laugh  as  fell  upon 
Mr.  Bradshaw's  ears !  He  was  positively  shocked,  being 
very  critical  on  the  subject  of  laughter,  and  very  angry 
with  Mr.  Maxwell  for  provoking  this  indiscretion, 

'  And  will  Mr.  Maxwell,'  said  Mr.  Bradshaw,  for  the  first 
time  joining  in  the  conversation,  '  please  inform  me  in  what 
light  I  am  considered,  if  Miss  Gordon  is  designated  as  old  ?  ' 

'  Most  willingly,'  answered  the  gentleman  addressed,  '  my 
sister,  Miss  Carrie  Maxwell,  has  a  long,  long  while  voted 
you  to  be  a  second  grandfather  Whitehead !  I  beg  not  to 
be  made  responsible  for  her  opinions ;  if  you  propose  to  call 
any  one  out,  —  for  you  look  sufficiently  indignant  to  perpe- 
trate an  honorable  murder,  —  please  apply  to  the  little  gentle- 
man with  the  huge  cravat,  so  assidiously  paying  his  court  to 
my  respected  relative,  and  I've  no  doubt  he  will  be  enchant- 
ed to  give  you  all  necessary  and  unnecessary  satisfaction. 


142  THE    BARCLAYS 

Why,  Bradshaw !  how  owhshly  solemn  you  look!  I'm 
absolutely  alarmed.  Miss  Gordon,  I  place  myself  at  your 
feet,  and  will  put  a  girdle  round  the  earth  at  your  bidding, 
but  just  now  will  leave  you  and  your  redoubtable  champion, 
and  return  when  he  is  in  better  humor.' 

Thus  saying,  Mr.  Maxwell  made  a  profound  obeisance, 
and  departed. 

Suddenly  he  returned  and  said,  '  I  forgot  entirely  to 
inform  you,  Miss  Gordon,  that  I  came  here  this  evening  for 
the  sole  purpose  of  seeing  you  and  finding  a  contemporary  ; 
but  perceiving  you  are  guarded  like  the  golden  fruit  in  the 
den  of  Hesperides,  I  am  constrained,  altogether  against  my 
will,  to  abandon  a  half-formed  project  of  re-entering  the 
world,  and  bid  you  a  solemn  and  eternal  adieu.' 

'  What  a  ridiculous  popinjay  ! '  exclaimed  Mr.  Bradshaw. 

But,  after  all,  he  thought  to  himself,  this  may  make  a 
good  opening  for  me,  and  he  asked  Clara  if  she  were  not 
fatigued,  and  would  not  prefer  to  be  seated  ;  so  she  placed 
herself  on  a  sofa,  and  Mr.  Bradshaw  composedly  disposed 
himself  beside  her.  Now,  it  was  very  true  that  ]Mr.  Brad- 
shaw had  worn  to  the  lady  of  his  love  a  very  paternal 
guise,  not  exactly  that  of  a  grandfather ;  but  there  was  ever 
a  very  fatherly  atmosphere  enveloping  him,  and  Clara  Gor- 
don felt  it.  He  was  too  wise  and  too  good  for  daily  bread  ; 
he  made  long  speeches  and  delivered  virtuous  homilies  upon 
the  degeneracy  of  the  times  and  the  backslidings  of  the 
people,  and  preached  too  much  on  week-days  altogether. 
He  was  an  excellent  individual ;  there  was  not  an  objection 
to  be  made  to  him  morally,  and  he  was  only,  as  a  matter  of 
taste,  rather  too  demonstratively  good.  And,  as  Mr.  Brad- 
shaw had  not  hidden  any  of  these  admirable  requisites  for  a 
perfect  helpmate,  from  Clara  Gordon,  it  is  wonderful  how 
she  could  have  been  so  blind  to  them  and  his  desire  to  make 
her  the  sharer  of  his  manifold  excellences ;  but  so  it  was. 
She  felt  neither,  and  saw  not  at  all.  He  was  sitting  beside 
her  and,  turning  towards  her,  lowered  the  tones  of  his  voice. 


OF    BOSTON.  143 

which  in  any  way  should  have  been  drowned  in  the  noise 
of  the  music  and  the  talkers,  and  he  whispered  : 

'  The  absurd  fooleries  of  Mr.  Hugh  Maxwell  are  very 
disagreeable  to  me,  and  I  hope  also  to  you,  Miss  Gordon, 
but  as  he  was  pleased  to  do  me  the  honor  to  mention  my 
unworthy  name  in  connection  with  yours,  I  will  venture  to 
affirm  that  I  devoutly  hope  it  may  ever  so  remain.  I  have 
long  desired  to  mention  a  subject  lying  next  my  heart;  and, 
as  he  seems  to  think  we  are  left  by  all  our  contemporaries 
alone,  his  impression  evidently  being  that  of  others  also, 
will  you  allow  me,  dear  Miss  Gordon,  to  ask  you  to  accept 
my  heart  and  hand  ?  I  have  perceived  a  very  great  sym- 
pathy in  our  tastes  and  feelings,  and  presume  this  has  also 
been  made  evident  to  the  bystanders,  since  they  have  con- 
ferred upon  me  the  high  favor  of  connecting  my  poor  name 
with  yours.  I  can  place  you  in  a  home  as  comfortable  as 
the  one  you  leave,  and  solemnly  promise  to  make  it  as 
happy  as  it  is  in  my  power  so  to  do.  I  know  that,  to  all 
young  ladies,  an  offer  of  marriage  is  an  important  event  in 
their  lives,  requiring  mature  reflection,  and  demanding  the 
advice  and  counsel  of  their  friends  and  advisers,  and  pre- 
sume you  will  be  no  exception  to  the  general  rule,  and 
require  sufficient  verge  and  space  for  profound  cogitations 
upon  my  words.  My  professions  bear  the  seal  and  stamp 
of  perfect  sincerity,  and  I  have  profound  regard  and  re- 
spect for  your  character,  in  which  I  behold  many  things  to 
admire.  I  also  dwell  with  great  satisfaction  on  your  nu- 
merous accomplishments,  as  tending  to  enliven  a  home  in 
a  superior  degree ;  and  I  sincerely  hope  for  an  acquies- 
cent response  to  this  exposition  of  my  unwavering  senti- 
ments, for  which  I  now  wait  with  impatience.' 

Poor  Clara  !  She  listened  with  dismay  to  this  never-end- 
ing oration,  with  its  repetitions  and  involved  sentences,  and 
was  all  the  time  thinking  how  she  should  manage  to  rise 
from  the  very,  very  low  Louis  the  Fourteenth  sofa  on  which 
it  could  not  be  said  she  reposed  in  peace ;  she  had  tried 
many  times,  during  Mr.  Bradshaw's  peroration,  ineffectually. 


144  THE    BAECLAYS 

'  Permit  me  to  assist  you  to  rise,  Miss  Gordon ;  I  know 
full  well  you  will  wish  to  confide  this  event  to  your  mother. 
I  entertain  small  doubt  of  her  being  propitious.' 

'  I  have  no  present  intention,'  said  Clara,  provoked  beyond 
expression  at  his  pertinacious  obstinacy  in  believing  there 
could  be  no  obstacles  any  where,  '  of  consulting  any  one  ; 
and  have  but  to  reply  to  your  proffers,  that  I  most  positively 
and  respectfully  decline  them.' 

*  Impossible  ! '  exclaimed  the  gentleman,  '  you  cannot 
surely  refuse  me  ! ' 

'  I  certainly  do  ;  and  nothing  can  ever  force  me  to  change 
my  irrevocable  intention  of  declining  your  addresses.' 

'  This  being  such  an  extraordinary  proceeding,  Miss  Gor- 
don, I  must  forthwith  see  your  mother.' 

'  It  will  avail  you  naught,  ]\Ir.  Bradshaw.' 

Upon  which  Mr.  Bradshaw  left  Miss  Gordon  and  saw  her 
mother,  whom,  in  his  excitement  and  indignation  at  her 
daughter's  conduct,  he  called  from  the  card-room,  and  con- 
fided to  her  her  child's  delinquencies.  Mrs.  Gordon  in- 
formed him  that  she  could  not  control  her  daughters 
affections,  which,  it  appeared  in  his  case,  were  not  fixed 
upon  him.  She  regretted  his  disappointment,  but  it  was 
evident  he  had  not  touched  her  child's  heart,  and  that  all 
expostulations  would  be  useless.  Mr.  Bradshaw  became 
vexed  with  both  mother  and  daughter,  and  took,  as  he  told 
Mrs.  Gordon,  an  eternal  farewell  of  them. 

Mrs.  Gordon  was  not  ver}^  sorry  at  Clara's  rejection  of 
her  suitor,  though  he  was  certainly  an  eligible  match,  and 
she  rather  agreed  with  the  picayunes,  in  thinking  him  a  tiny 
bit  prosy,  his  conversation  being  rather  tiresome,  though 
unobjectionably  wise,  —  but  she  was  astonished  at  the  exhi- 
bition of  bad  temper  he  had  made,  which  she,  however, 
attributed  to  mortified  vanity,  he  having  been  so  remarkably 
sure  of  his  matrimonial  prize. 

Indeed,  Mr.  Bradshaw  could  never  be  made  to  compre- 
hend the  cause  of  Miss  Gordon's  rejection  of  his  suit. 


OF    BOSTON.  145 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

'  Dark  lowers  our  fate, 
And  terrible  the  storm  that  gathers  o'er  us.' 

Joanna  Baillie. 

It  was  just  at  this  period  when  Mr.  Barclay  found  him- 
self in  the  complete  enjoyment  of  his  eminently  prosperous 
existence,  in  the  zenith  of  his  manhood,  adored  by  his  fam- 
ily, surrounded  by  steadfast  friends  and  environed  with 
countless  blessings,  for  which  he  was  aboundingly  grateful, 
that  a  dire  calamity  befel  him.  A  calamity  which  probing 
him  to  the  heart's  core,  and  rudely  dashing  the  overflowing 
cup  of  his  happiness  to  the  earth  in  one  dark  and  dreary 
moment,  dissolved  into  thin  air  the  peaceful  fabric  of  his 
existence,  never  again  to  be  restored.  A  cloud,  black  as 
Erebus,  broke  over  his  devoted  head.  And  this  sad  affliction 
dwelt  in  the  person  of  his  child,  his  first-born,  his  idolized 
daughter,  Georgiana.  She  sought  him  in  his  own  private 
room,  and  closing  the  door  carefully,  fell  at  his  feet  in  a 
paroxysm  of  grief  and  remorse,  and  confessed  herself  to 
have  been  secretly  married. 

On  listening  to  this  astonishing  revelation,  Mr.  Barclay 
imagined  it  to  be  the  result  of  sudden  delirium,  of  halluci- 
nation, and  he  could  only  be  persuaded  of  the  truth  of  her 
story  by  her  repeatedly  reiterated  asseverations. 

'And  to  whom.''  demanded  her  almost  distracted  father. 

*  To  Gerald  Sanderson,'  she  answered. 

'To  Gerald  Sanderson!'  he  exclaimed,  'the  young  and 
dreamy  enthusiast  and  hermit,  of  whom  I  have  heard  his 
13 


146  THE    BARCLAYS 

brother  speak  so  frequently,  loving  him  devotedly,  but  ever 
regretting  his  half-monastic  habits,  —  how  got  he  access 
to  you,  my  child  ?  when  and  where  ?  I  have  always  under- 
stood he  constantly  remained  in  his  study,  at  the  top  of  the 
old  house,  eschewing  all  society,  and  devoting  himself  to 
abstruse  and  philosophical  speculations.' 

'  Oh !  my  father,  I  dare  not  look  in  your  dear  face  for 
veiy  shame  and  agony  of  spirit ;  I  have  most  grievously 
sinned  against  you  and  my  beloved  mother,  and  deserve 
no  forgiveness  whatever.  I  have  hoarded  up  this  fearful 
secret  until  it  became  utterly  impossible  for  me  to  retain 
it  any  longer,  in  accordance  with  Gerald's  earnest  prayers 
and  supplications,  he  having  conjured  me  to  allow  him  to 
bear  the  brunt  of  your  well  merited  indignation,  and  assured 
me  he  would  not  permit  any  one  to  be  blamed  but  himself, 
and  now  that  he  returns  not  home,  I  can  bear  this  no  longer. 
Alas !  I  full  well  know  how  much  more  criminal  I  am  than 
he  ;  he  has  never  experienced  your  exalted  goodness,  your 
indulgence,  your  devoted  watchfulness,  whereas  I,  sinner 
that  I  am,  have  offended  against  yourself,  my  mother,  and 
my  Maker.  Oh  !  what  a  load  of  misery  is  on  my  soul ; 
how  ungrateful,  how  disobedient,  have  I  been  ;  what  dis- 
graceful deceptions  have  I  not  practised,  when  all  around 
me  was  truth  and  honor !  .My  father,  my  father,  I  ask  not 
for  forgiveness ;  punish  me  as  you  best  think  fit ;  no  penance 
can  be  too  severe  for  me  to  endure.  Oh  !  the  weight  on  my 
brain  is  too  great  to  bear  and  live ;  my  whole  life  is  banned 
and  marred  forever  ! ' 

Mr.  Barclay,  with  parental  kindness,  essayed  to  calm  the 
violence  of  his  daughter's  feelings,  to  compose,  in  some 
degree,  the  fever  of  her  mind.  He  then  asked  her  where 
she  had  first  seen  Gerald  Sanderson.  She  replied,  '  In  the 
cloak-room  at  Mrs.  Ashley's  children's  ball,'  and  narrated, 
what  the  reader  already  knows,  her  refusal  to  dance  with  him. 
She  then  stated,  that  her  sister's  cold  confaiing  her  to  the  house 
during  the  winter,  she  had  no  companion  in  her  daily  walks 


OF    BOSTON.  147 

to  school,  and  that,  very  soon  after  the  ball,  she  began  to 
meet  Gerald  Sanderson.  By  degrees,  insensibly  she  en- 
countered him  more  frequently  ;  that  at  first  she  had  not 
mentioned  his  constant  appearance  in  her  path,  simply  from 
a  species  of  timidity,  arising  from  a  complete  subjugation 
of  all  her  feelings  which  that  youth  had  established  over 
her,  from  the  very  first  moment  she  laid  her  eyes  upon  him. 
She  compared  this  feeling  to  sorcery  or  witchcraft,  or  any 
other  undue  fascination;  unholy  she  called  it,  for  had  she 
not  been  led  into  undutifulness  and  hypocrisy  by  giving  up 
her  whole  soul  to  her  lover  ?  In  the  beginning  all  was  a 
dream,  but  soon  came  a  change.  She  longed  for  his  pres- 
ence, voluntarily  met  him,  and  took  long  walks  with  him 
in  bye  streets,  avoiding  the  frequented  haunts  where  she 
might  chance  to  encounter  familiar  faces.  He  wrote  her 
long,  impassioned  letters  and  verses,  gave  her  serenades, 
sent  bouquets  and  little  novelties  of  various  kinds  anony- 
mously. Of  these  the  family  had  taken  no  notice,  such 
things  constantly  occurring  from  other  quarters.  He  had 
haunted  her  pi'esence  day  and  night,  she  said,  having  passed 
a  great  part  of  the  latter  under  her  windows ;  he  said 
the  watchmen,  on  their  beat,  knew  him  intimately  by  sight, 
and  took  no  note  of  him.  He  played  and  sang  divinely, 
and  Gracy  had  jested  with  her,  after  Charley's  departure, 
upon  Gerald's  serenades,  but  had  not  the  most  remote  idea 
that  she  had  ever  seen  him.  He  had  forced  her  to  swear 
she  would  never  divulge  her  secret,  even  to  her  sister;  it 
was  not  to  be  thought  of.  At  last,  he  h^d  told  her  he  must 
depart  as  his  brother  had  done  and  seek  a  fortune,  to  marry 
her;  that  his  uncle  would  never  leave  him  any  thing,  and 
that  he  must  work  as  Charley  had  done,  in  order  to  give  her 
the  same  comforts  she  possessed  at  home.  She  must  always 
live  in  luxury,  he  said.  So  when  the  time  arrived  that  he 
was  to  depart  he  urged  a  secret  marriage,  at  which  she 
revolted.  It  took  a  lono;,  lon^  while  for  him  to  induce  her 
to  consent,  but  weak  and  powerless  in  his  hands,  he  sue- 


148  THE    BARCLAYS 

ceeded.  They  entered  a  house  where  she  found  a  clergy- 
man and  a  gentleman,  whom  Gerald  declared  to  be  his 
best  friend,  —  not  a  young  man,  by  any  means,  —  and  they 
were  married.  The  ceremony  concluded,  —  (it  was  short, 
—  she  remembered  it  very  indistinctly,  —  it  was  all  confusion 
in  her  recollection)  —  she  and  Gerald  left  the  house  imme- 
diately. They  parted  at  the  corner  of  the  street,  —  she 
never  saw  him  more;  she  had  reason  to  believe  he  passed 
that  night  under  her  windows.  The  next  day  she  received 
a  large  bridal  bouquet,  a  few  hurried  and  passionate  appeals 
to  her  constancy,  her  affection,  and  he  was  gone.  All  these 
events  occurred  in  such  rapid  succession  that  she  had  no 
time  for  reflection.  She  knew  she  had  done  a  great  wrong, 
committed  an  unpardonable  offence  against  her  parents,  but, 
in  some  unaccountable  way,  she  seemed  not  to  regret  it  as 
such.  She  was  composed  and  quiet,  assured  that  Gerald 
would  return.  His  absence  appeared  to  produce  a  certain 
relief  to  her  overcharged  spirit ;  she  stilled  the  voice  of 
her  conscience,  and  pursued  the  even  tenor  of  her  way 
unmolested.  He  did  not  write,  and  yet  she  was  not  un- 
happy ;  she  trusted  in  him,  but  she  could  in  no  manner 
comprehend  her  quietude  under  the  infliction  of  his  absence. 
She  had  regarded  his  injunctions  of  secrecy  as  merely 
fanciful  ;  he  was  of  a  romantic  and  visionary  turn,  (she  had 
a  little  of  the  same  character  herself,)  and  the  whole  thing 
seemed  a  pleasing  romance  in  her  eyes. 

This  state  of  aflairs  lasted  a  long  while.  She  had  never 
appeared  to  acknowledge  to  herself  her  position,  but,  as 
time  rolled  on,  and  Gerald  made  no  sign,  she  began  to 
apprehend  misfortune,  even  death,  and  a  film  appeared  to 
pass  from  before  her  hitherto  blinded  eyes.  She  supposed 
she  had  become  more  matured  in  her  judgment  :  she 
had  looked  upon  her  position  in  a  totally  different  light. 
Conscience,  once  fully  awakened,  would  no  longer  be 
hushed,  and  her  sufferings  had  become  perfectly  unendur- 
able, the  more  intense,  from  the  obligatory  concealment ; 


OF    BOSTON.  149 

SO,  in  a  frenzy  of  despair,  she  had  arisen  from  her  prayers 
to  God  for  assistance,  and  gone  to  her  father  to  make  & 
completely  frank  and  truthful  confession,  and  to  beg  and 
conjure  him  to  pardon  her,  though  she  felt  she  had  no  right 
to  sue  as  a  petitioner  for  mercy,  when  she  stood  in  his 
presence. 

Of  course,  all  this  was  extracted  bit  by  bit,  and  it  seemed 
that  her  heart  would  break  under  the  trial,  and  her  father, 
totally  unused  to  menaces,  or  even  reproaches,  treated  her 
with  kindness  and  tenderness,  and  comforted  her ;  instead 
of  harshness  and  contumely,  she  received  consolation.  This 
was  even  more  than  she  could  endure  ;  so  paternal  was  his 
bearing  in  her  eyes,  that  she  mourned  her  dereliction 
from  her  duty  all  the  more,  and  her  duplicity  towards  her 
inestimable  and  priceless  father  seemed  more  heinous  than 
ever.  Georgiana  had  been  so  tortured  by  remorse,  that  the 
full  disclosure  of  her  appalling  secret  had,  in  some  sort, 
relieved  her  harrowed  mind.  She  felt  that  the  crisis  of  her 
fate  had  arrived  ;  the  ordeal  was  passed  ;  she  had  poured 
into  the  sympathizing  bosom  of  her  all-pardoning  parent  the 
tale  of  her  misery,  and  he  had  deigned  to  breathe  words  of 
hope  and  encouragement  to  his  erring  child.  Then  came' 
to  both  father  and  daughter,  the  distressing  thought  of  the 
mother  and  wife  !  She  was  to  be  informed  of  the  blow 
which  had  fallen  on  her  household  ;  how  would  she  bear  it.'' 
A  worshipper  of  truth,  having  devoted  her  days  to  the  instil- 
ment of  its  healthful  principles  into  the  minds  and  hearts 
of  her  children,  how  would  she  receive  the  mortifying  intel- 
ligence that  h-er  untiring  efTorts  had  been  unavailing  ?  Here 
was  an  acted  lie  in  the  very  heart  of  her  own  family,  the 
place  of  all  others  in  which  she  would  have  least  expected 
to  find  it !  How  discouraging  to  her  must  be  this  failure  of 
her  exertions  to  prove  and  perfect  the  character  of  her 
daughter,  the  oldest,  —  the  one  to  whom  she  looked  for  the 
fruition  of  her  educational  plans,  to  say  nothing  of  the  ex- 
13* 


150  THE    BARCLAYS 

ample  which  she  had  ever  prayed  this  child  of  her  affections 
might  exhibit  to  her  sisters  and  brother. 

As  these  reflections  arose  in  the  mind  of  that  child,  she 
shrunk  with  fear  and  trembling  at  the  melancholy  task  which 
her  father  had  taken  upon  himself,  the  imparting  this  story 
of  her  humiliating  disgrace  to  her  mother.  It  was  to  be 
done,  and  no  one  but  he  could  properly  break  the  wearisome 
tale,  and  again  and  again,  how  would  she  receive  it? 

Mr.  Barclay  supported  his  fainting  daughter  to  her  cham- 
ber, and  closing  the  door,  left  her  with  her  misery.  How 
long  he  was  gone  she  knew  not.  It  seemed  an  age  of 
torture ;  she  listened  intently  to  every  sound  with  checked 
and  fevered  respiration  ;  she  hardly  dared  to  breathe  ;  cold 
chills  crept  through  her  veins,  and  in  after-times,  as  she 
pondered  upon  those  appalling  moments,  it  was  with  an 
intensity  of  suffering  sad  to  reflect  upon.  Indeed,  she 
often  marvelled  that  reason  had  not  sunk  under  that  mighty 
trial.  At  last  approaching  footsteps  were  heard ;  slowly 
and  solemnly  they  fell  upon  her  ear ;  the  lock  was  turned, 
the  door  gently  opened,  and  her  father  appeared.  If  he  had 
come  without  her  mother  !  She  attempted  to  rise  from  her 
chair ;  a  choking  and  overwhelming  sensation  obliged  her 
to  re-seat  herself;  —  an  instant,  and  her  mother  had  folded 
her  arms  around  her,  and  was  whispering  in  melting  tones 
forgiveness,  mercy,  —  blessed  and  revivifying  words  !  Mr. 
Barclay  left  them  together,  and  over  the  scene,  in  which 
the  repentant  young  creature  poured  forth  her  whole  soul 
on  the  bosom  of  her  parent,  a  veil  shall  be  drawn.  The 
father  then  sought  for  Grace,  and  imparted  to  her  the  events 
of  this  miserable  morning.  She  was  overwhelmed  with 
astonishment  and  grief;  she  had  never,  in  the  slightest  possi- 
ble way,  suspected  aught  to  her  own  perfect  sister's  dispar- 
agement, and  could  hardly  be  made  to  believe  what  she 
heard ;  and  surely,  from  no  other  source,  would  she  have 
given  credence  to  such  an  astonishing  revelation.  She  de- 
clared that  lately  she  had  perceived  a  change  in  her  sister. 


OF    BOSTON.  151 

which  daily  increased.  She  rather  shunned  society  ;  had 
wakeful  nights;  was  excessively  gay  when  in  the  presence 
of  the  assembled  family,  and  moping  and  melancholy  alone. 
She  had  always  endeavored  to  rouse  herself  when  she  had 
entered  the  room  and  found  her  in  these  moods,  but  very 
shortly  relapsed.  Grace  also  said  that  she  had  been  some 
time  thinking  that  her  sister's  health  was  declining  ;  but,  as 
neither  her  father  or  mother  seemed  to  perceive  it,  she  for- 
bore mentioning  her  own  suspicions  lest  she  might  alarm 
them.  Now  all  was  revealed,  she  felt  the  most  intense 
commiseration  for  Georgy  ;  and  so  accustomed  had  she  ever 
been  to  regard  her  sister  in  the  light  of  a  superior  being, 
that  it  was  with  great  difficulty  she  could  bring  herself  to 
express  what,  in  any  other  case,  she  would  have  openly 
avowed,  her  entire  disapprobation  of  her  proceedings.  Still, 
Grace  was  obliged  to  confess  that  her  idol  had  deviated  from 
the  path  of  her  duty,  and  that  with  such  parents  the  error 
was  all  the  more  reprehensible.  There  was  no  way  of  gloss- 
ing over  her  conduct;  she  had  been  both  undutiful  and 
ungrateful,  and  this  was  a  source  of  exquisite  suffering  to 
the  tender-hearted  and  loving  young  creature. 

The  Dolly  received  this  sad  news  with  an  outburst  of 
sensibility,  almost  alarming  from  its  violence.  She  wept, 
wrung  her  hands,  and  bewailed  her  sister's  fate  with  irre- 
pressible emotion.  She  raved  at  Gerald's  folly,  at  Georgy 's, 
and  finally  threw  herself  into  Nursey  Bristow's  arms,  and 
fairly  cried  herself  to  sleep.  Nursey  laid  her  gently  in  bed, 
from  which  she  did  not  arise  until  late  the  next  morning. 

Mr.  Barclay  sent  immediately  for  his  brother,  who  came 
and  betrayed  the  deepest  and  most  intense  sympathy  in  his 
sorrow,  but  took  a  cheering  view  of  the  case.  He  said  he 
hated  Philip  Egerton,  and  knew  absolutely  nothing  of  Gerald 
except  his  disgraceful  conduct  in  relation  to  his  niece,  but 
that  his  father  was  an  honorable  man,  universally  respect- 
ed ;  the  mother  a  good,  weak  creature  ;  and  no  very  great 
harm,  he  thought,  could  ever  arise  from  a  connection  with 


152  THE    BARCLAYS 

the  scions  of  such  a  stock ;  so  he  was  disposed  to  look 
favorably  on  the  marriage.  Again,  Gerald  was  so  young, 
so  unworldly  and  so  romantic,  that  many  excuses  might  be 
urged  for  his  conduct,  which,  under  other  circumstances, 
would  admit  of  no  palliatives  whatever.  Mr.  Richard  was 
quite  sure  that  Charley  would  never  have  committed  such  an 
act,  not  he  ;  but  then  he  was  a  complete  man  of  the  world 
compared  with  his  brother.  He  knew,  for  certain,  that  his 
young  favorite  was  dying  in  love  with  Gracy,  and  yet  had 
never  revealed  his  passion,  '  Now,'  said  he,  '  the  best  way 
for  you,  John,  is  to  go  to-morrow  morning  and  see  Mr. 
Egerton,  state  the  case  to  him,  and  have  every  thing  settled 
satisfactorily.  Revolve  over  the  whole  atTair  in  your  own 
mind  this  evening;  arrange  your  plan  for  storming  the 
miser's  stronghold  ;  sleep  upon  your  trouble,  and  awake  like 
a  giant  refreshed,  and  attack  Mr.  Egerton  and  his  treacherous 
nephew.  I  beg  your  pardon,  1  will  never  again  call  your 
son-in-law  hard  names.  God  bless  you,  my  brother,  and 
good  night;  for  I  intend  to  leave  you  to  your  own  reflections 
until  to-morrow,  when  I  sincerely  hope  things  will  assume  a 
different  aspect.' 

Mrs.  Barclay  remaining  with  Georgy,  her  husband  paced 
his  hitherto  deligluful  library  with  heavy  and  mournful  steps 
all  that  long  evening,  every  visiter  being  refused ;  and 
Grracy  creeping  closely  to  his  side  accompanied  her  father, 
oppressed  with  grief.  This  being  the  young  girl's  first  in- 
troduction to  sorrow  and  suffering,  she  longed  for  the  morrow, 
for  change,  imagining  that  the  light  of  another  day  would 
bring  healing  on  its  wings.  So  impossible  does  it  seem  to 
convince  youthful  minds  of  the  continuity  of  affliction  :  and 
why  should  it  ever  be  attempted  r 

Mr.  Barclay,  before  he  retired  to  rest,  sent  a  servant  to  Mr. 
Egerton's  to  inquire  if  Mr.  Gerald  Sanderson  had  returned 
home,  and  learned  that  he  was  at  his  uncle's  house  ;  at  which 
information  he  felt  slightly  relieved,  as  he  thought  the  sooner 
the  whole  thing  was  settled  and  arranged,  the  better. 


OF    BOSTON.  153 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


'  Wait  !  for  the  time  is  hasting 

When  life  shall  be  made  clear, 

And  all  who  know  heart-wasting. 

Shall  find  that  God  is  near.' 

CiiAuxcET  Hahe  Towxsexd. 

The  next  morning,  after  a  wretched  and  sleepless  night, 
Mr.  Barclay  ordered  his  carriage  and  went  to  Mr.  Egerton's. 
He  raised  the  ponderous  knocker,  and,  at  this  unwonted 
sound  in  that  establishment,  Peter  rushed  to  the  door,  fol- 
lowed by  Dinah,  who  kept  a  little  in  his  rear.  Mr.  Barclay 
inquired  if  Mr.  Egerton  were  at  home,  and  if  he  could  see 
him.  Peter  opened  the  best  parlor  door,  with  great  cere- 
mony, and  ushered  him  into  Philip's  state  apartment.  There 
stood,  nailed  to  the  wall,  the  old  chairs  and  sofa,  and  the 
one  solitary  table,  all  looking  as  if  they  had  not  been  re- 
moved for  a  century,  stiff  and  formal  like  their  owner,  —  the 
grate  not  having  seen  a  fire  since  the  late  Mr.  Egerton's 
decease.  The  room  was  intensely  cold,  and,  although  the 
visher's  feet  were  almost  frozen  during  the  long  time  he 
awaited  his  answer,  he  hardly  seemed  conscious  of  the 
atmosphere  in  this  incipient  ice-house.  Mr.  Barclay  was 
quite  sure  that  Mr.  Egerton  was  at  home,  having  arrived 
early  in  order  to  secure  an  audience.  In  the  excited  state 
of  his  feelings  the  minutes  seemed  hours  to  the  unhappy 
father,  and  he  longed  impatiently  for  the  reappearance  of 
the  black  mercury.  At  last,  when  he  had  begun  to  think 
of  once  more  storming  this  old  castle  of  dullness,  by  repair- 
ing to  the  hall  door  and  attacking  its  lion-headed  knocker, 


154  THE    BARCLAYS 

Peter  arrived,  and  with  many  bows  and  grinnaces  assured 
him  his  master  would  be  liappy  to  receive  him.  In  this  the 
black  plenipotentiary  bad  remarkably  stretched  his  powers, 
inasmuch  as  Mr.  Egcrton,  after  walking  about  the  room  an 
indefinitely  long  period,  had  made  a  sort  of  assenting  sign 
that  his  niost  unexpected  guest  might  enter  his  sanctum. 

When  Mr.  Barclay  found  himself  in  '  the  Library ' 
without  books,  in  the  presence  of  two  hard  chairs  and  a 
large  square  table,  so  polished  he  could  have  arranged  his 
toilet  in  it,  very  little  fire,  and  the  immensely  stately,  pom- 
pous possessor  of  this  private  elysiuin,  his  courage  nearly 
failed  him,  every  thing  appeared  so  frigid,  so  unimpressi- 
able.  Mr.  Egcrton  arose  from  his  bigh-backcd  ctiair,  and, 
coldly  bowing,  desired,  in  measured  terms,  to  be  informed 
to  what  fortuitous  circumstance  he  owed  the  honor  of  a  visit 
at  such  an  unwonted  hour,  from  a  gentleman  he  so  rarely 
had  the  pleasure  to  see.  This  was  any  thing  but  encouraging, 
it  must  be  confessed.  Mr.  Barclay,  however,  recovering 
himself,  stated  that  he  had  come  on  an  errand  of  considerable 
importance  to  himself,  and  trusted  Mr.  Egcrton  would  also 
be  interested  in  it.  That  gentleman,  instantly  perceiving 
that  there  must  be  some  momentous  event  to  be  announced, 
from  the  agitated  manner  of  a  man  whom  he  had  always 
not  a  little  envied  for  his  prosperity  and  equanimity,  begged 
Mr.  Barclay  would  take  a  chair,  and,  seating  himself  com- 
posedly, awaited  its  disclosure.  Mr.  Barclay  immediately 
began,  and,  in  a  plain  unvarnished  tale,  recounted  the  sad 
story  whicli  has  already  been  related.  As  he  proceeded, 
although  at  times  his  voice  almost  failed  him,  the  Christian 
spirit  breathing  through  his  words,  his  patience  and  forbear- 
ance, and  the  charm  of  his  simple  and  natural  manners 
failed  not  to  produce  upon  his  listener  a  somewhat  sympa- 
thetic clfect.  Mr.  Egerton  was  an  honorable  man,  and 
deeply  felt  his  nephew's  treachery.  Then  his  own  good 
name  was,  to  a  certain  extent,  involved  in  this  nefarious 
transaction,   the   pure  blood   of  his  family   tarnished,   and 


OF    BOSTON.  155 

poor  Emma,  his  sister  !  —  what  had  become  of  her  ?  And 
then  there  was  a  satisfaction,  no,  not  exactly  that,  but  some- 
thing near  akin  to  it,  that  in  his  presence,  and  before  his 
eyes,  he  beheld  the  only  man  he  had  ever  condescended  to 
envy,  in  his  whole  natural  life,  bowed  down  with  grief  and 
shame  for  the  dereliction  of  an  idolized  child.  For,  how- 
ever Mr.  Barclay  might  brave  the  coming  storm,  disgrace  it 
was,  and  emanating  from  a  source  which  the  unhappy 
father  had  always  regarded  as  pure  and  undefiled.  Unspot- 
ted had  his  daughter  ever  been,  and  what  was  she  now  ?  A 
creature  for  the  shafts  of  envy  and  malice  to  be  expended 
upon ! 

Mr.  Egerton''3  feelings  softened  towards  Mr.  Barclay,  the 
tones  of  his  voice  altered,  and  while  he  expressed  his  honest 
indignation  at  Gerald's  misconduct,  he  begged  him  to  accept 
his  sincere  sympathy  in  his  tribulation.  The  two  gentle- 
men, after  a  long  and  most  intensely  interesting  conversa- 
tion, debated  the  best  means  of  apprising  the  delinquent  of 
his  turpitude,  and  then  dispatched  Peter  up  into  the  young 
offender's  quarters  in  search  of  him. 

Gerald,  who  was  just  then  deeply  engaged  in  solving 
some  abstruse  mathematical  problem,  and  looking  marvel- 
lously unlike  a  lover,  quite  resented  the  black's  intrusion 
into  his  eyrie,  which  was  certainly  a  very  unwonted  circum- 
stance. The  excitement  produced  by  the  arrival  of  a  visiter 
at  any  hour  would  have  completely  upset  poor  Peter's  brain, 
—  but  at  nine  in  the  morning !  he  had  not  an  idea  left  in 
his  head,  and  accordingly  bounced  into  the  student's  pres- 
ence without  even  knocking. 

'  Pray  what  do  you  want,  Peter? '  cried  Gerald,  in  no  very 
gentle  tones  ;  '  what  means  this  sudden  intrusion  ?  ' 

'  Oh  Massa,  Massa  Gerald,  Mr.  Barclay,  the  great  Mr. 
Barclay,  is  down  stairs  in  my  Massa's  library,  and  wants  to 
see  you  ;  so  take  off  dat  ole  dressin  gown  and  put  on  your 
bess  bettermost  coat,  and  run  down  right  off,  dis  minute.' 


156  THE     BARCLAYS 

'  I  shall  do  no  such  thing,'  replied  Gerald.  '  Mr.  Barclay 
and  I  can  have  nothing  to  say  to  each  other,  I  am  positive.' 

'  Oh  yes,  Massa,  Massa ;  good  deal,  good  deal,  I  guess.' 

'  And  what  do  you  know  about  this  matter,  Peter  ?  '  said 
Gerald,  gradually  awakening  from  what  Peter  called  his 
'  brown  study,'  in  which  he  had  been  intensely  engaged 
previous  to  the  astounding  news  of  a  visit  from  the  great 
merchant. 

'  What  can  he  want  ?  '  said  Gerald  to  himself. 

'  Guess  he  want  someting  strange,  berry  strange,  Massa.' 

'  How  do  you  know  ?  you  old  villain ! '  cried  Gerald.  '  I 
really  believe  you  've  been  at  your  vile  tricks  of  listening  at 
the  door.' 

'  And  if  I  hab,  what  harm,  Massa  ?  Der  nebber  cum  to 
dis  house  noffin ;  and  when  de  biggest  bug  in  de  whole  town 
come  bang-whanging  away  at  de  ragin  lion's  head,  spose  I 
goin  to  wait  til  he  be  gone  to  know  his  bisness  ?  No,  Massa, 
no!' 

'  'Tis  a  very  bad  habit  you  have  contracted,  Peter,  and 
should  be  immediately  corrected.' 

'  Yes,  I  berry  well  know  it's  all  wrong.  Missus  hab  told 
me  so  often  enough  for  dis  ole  coon  to  member.  But  den, 
you  all  know  I  nebber  tell  any  ting  out  ob  dis  house.' 

With  this  salvo  for  his  conscience,  the  old  servant  was 
perfectly  satisfied  with  what  he  had  done  ;  and  as  Gerald 
did  not  inquire  what  the  secret  was,  —  at  which  he  was  im- 
measurably disappointed,  —  he  applied  himself  most  dili- 
gently to  making  the  young  man  presentable  before  he 
entered,  what  Peter  considered  to  be,  the  august  presence  of 
the  '  biggest  bug  '  in  the  town. 

Gerald  descended,  slowly  and  measuredly,  the  stairs, 
seemingly  occupied  in  arranging  his  scattered  thoughts,  be- 
fore this  grand  audience  should  take  place.  At  the  library 
door  he  stopped  and  hesitated  ;  he  had  never  spoken  to  Mr. 
Barclay,  and  had  rarely  seen  him.  This  meeting  evidently 
agitated  and  alarmed  him.     After  one  or  two  unsuccessful 


OF    BOSTON.  '  157 

efforts  to  turn  the  lock,  he  effected  his  purpose,  and  stood  in 
the  presence  of  his  enraged  uncle  and  afflicted  guest. 

Mr.  Egerton,  totally  forgetting  his  dignified  and  imposing 
ways,  fell  upon  the  young  culprit  unmercifully.  '  What 
have  you  been  doing  ?  '  exclaimed  he,  — '  you  disgrace  to 
my  blood  !  you  traitor !  who  have  stolen,  like  a  thief  in  the 
night,  into  this  good  man's  house  and  taken  away  his  daugh- 
ter !  Shame  on  you  for  a  recreant,  as  you  are,  to  your 
name  and  to  your  station  !  What  will  my  poor  sister  and 
your  devoted  mother  say  to  the  tale  of  your  dishonor  and 
perfidy,  which  I  shall  have  to  narrate  to  her  ?  This  horrid 
story  will  go  far  towards  re-opening  wounds  in  her  lacerated 
heart,  which  religion  and  time  have  been  healing.  Answer 
me  directly,  —  How  dared  your  noble  father's  son  commit 
such  an  offence  against  good  faith  and  morality  ?  ' 

'  Of  what  offence  do  you  accuse- me,  Uncle  .'  '  said  Ge- 
rald, in  the  calmest  manner  possible. 

'  Of  having  lured  away  Miss  Georgiana  Barclay  ! '  thun- 
dered forth  Mr.  Egerton,  '  from  her  duty  ;  of  having  turned 
her  head  with  your  absurd  poetry  and  music  and  flattering 
lies,  until  she  consented  to  become  your  wife,  unknown  to 
her  excellent  parents,  whom  I  believe  to  be  unexcelled  in 
their  tender  devotion  to  their  children.' 

'  1  never,  my  Uncle,  spoke  to  Miss  Georgiana  Barclay  in 
my  life,'  replied  Gerald  coolly. 

'  Hear  him  !  hear  him  ! '  cried  Mr.  Egerton.  '  God  help 
me,  he  is  adding  falsehood  and  hypocrisy  to  the  already 
horrid  catalogue  of  his  wicked  doings  !  ' 

'  My  father's  son,'  said  Gerald  solemnly,  '  never  lies.' 

'  Oh,  the  viper  !  the  young  villain  ! '  exclaimed  Mr.  Eger- 
ton. '  1  will  send  you  out  of  this  house  before  this  day  is 
well  over  ;  you  shall  get  your  bread  in  other  ways  than 
studying  astronomy  —  calculating  the  stars,  forsooth  !  I  will 
send  you  on  a  voyage  round  the  world,  in  which  you  shall 
have  plenty  of  leisure  to  repent  you  of  your  misdeeds  ;  — a 
fellow  that  I  have  supported  and  harbored,  faugh  ! ' 
U 


158  THE     BARCLAYS 

'  I  am  perfectly  willing,  Sir,'  said  the  young  man,  who 
had  become  thoroughly  aroused  and  angered,  '  to  leave  this 
old  house,  which  has  sheltered  me,  and  very  little  else,  dur- 
ing many  years.  For  your  hospitality,  such  as  it  has  been, 
I  am  sufficiently  grateftd  ;  but  I  entirely  deny  your  right  to 
order  me  any  where  ;  and  I  tell  you,  in  your  teeth,  I  will 
not  be  sent  to  the  Sandwich  Islands  or  the  Northwest  Coast, 
by  you  or  any  one  else.  I  know,'  he  resumed,  '  that  those 
long  voyages  are  considered  to  be,  by  yourself  and  others, 
the  schools  of  reform  for  all  wild  youths,  and  also  that  you 
have  counselled  many  a  father  to  do  this  same  thing,  to  the 
utter  degradation  and  ruin  of  his  son.  One  case  came  un- 
der my  own  immediate  cognisance,  where  a  youth  of  great 
refinement  and  sensibility  was  banished,  for  some  very 
venial  and  juvenile  oifence,  from  a  luxurious  home  to  a 
forecastle ;  and  what  with  the  contamination  of  its  atmos- 
phere—  which,  I  grant,  he  had  not  the  moral  courage  to 
resist,  that  quality  being  rare  in  the  spring-time  of  life  —  and 
his  own  despair,  he  entirely  succumbed.  I  saw  him  the  last 
week  even,  a  vulgar,  degraded  wreck,  —  and  that  was  your 
own  doing,  Sir.  I  never  saw  a  China  merchant,  who  did 
not  firmly  believe  in  the  efficacy  of  this  plan ;  and  I  now 
reiterate  my  assertion,  —  I  will  not  go  ! ' 

Mr.  Egcrton's  amazement  at  this  outpouring  of  resent- 
ment from  his  quiet,  unobtrusive  nephew,  completely  bereft 
him  of  words.  Ho  literally  had  nothing  to  say.  Mr.  Bar- 
clay, who  had  until  then  been  unable  to  make  himself  heard, 
spoke.  lie  asserted,  that  he  could  in  nowise  comprehend 
why  Mr.  Gerald  Sanderson  should  so  positively  deny  the 
charge  brought  against  him  ;  for  this  he  must  be  answerable 
to  his  own  conscience.  He  averred  that  he  believed  his 
daughter's  assertion  before  the  asseverations  of  any  one  ; 
that  he  was  disposed,  for  many  good  reasons,  into  which  he 
would  not  then  enter  on  the  discussion,  to  look  more  leni- 
ently upon  the  marriage  than  Mr.  Egerton,  and  that  he 
would  make  the  proposition  that  they  should  all  repair  to 


OF    BOSTON.  159 

his  own  house,  and  in  the  presence  of  the  young  lady  her- 
self settle  the  question  at  once. 

Mr.  Egerton  acceded  immediately  to  this  measure,  and 
Gerald  respectfully  signified  his  complete  willingness  to  ac- 
company him.  The  drive  was  passed  in  perfect  silence  by 
the  whole  trio.  On  arriving  at  their  destination,  Mr.  Barclay, 
hastily  jumping  out  of  the  vehicle,  ushered  Mr.  Egerton  and 
his  nephew  into  the  library,  and  then  left  them.  They 
passed  the  time  during  his  absence  in  carefully  avoiding 
each  other ;  Gerald's  uncle  being  still  too  much  overwhelm- 
ed to  renew  his  accusations,  and  the  nephew  remaining 
reserved  and  sullen. 

Mr.  Barclay  found  Georgiana  more  composed  than  he  had 
anticipated.  Her  mother,  whose  gentle  attentions  and  melt- 
ing kindness  had  effected  this  change,  looked  like  a  martyr, 
as  slic  was. 

'  My  dear  wife,  and  daughter,'  said  he,  '  I  have  brought 
Mr.  Egerton  and  his  nephew  with  me  ;  you  must  endeavor 
to  compose  yourselves  sufficiently  to  receive  them.  You, 
dear  Mrs.  Barclay,  your  son,  —  and  you,  my  daughter,  your 
husband  ;  —  all,  all  is  forgiven  !  Life  is  too  short  to  be  filled 
with  the  misery  we  can  evade  by  our  own  exertions ;  want 
of  fortune  is  nothing  to  me  ;  the  all  of  life  is  not  money,  and 
provided  Gerald  Sanderson  turns  out  a  good  fellow,  I  shall 
thankfully  receive  and  treat  him  as  my  own  son.  I  do  not 
regard  the  offence,  when  1  look  upon  my  beloved  child,  in 
the  light  his  uncle  does,  who  is  outrageous  at  his  breach  of 
faith.  I  know  you  to  be  very  attractive,  dear  Georgy,  and 
he  very  young  and  romantic,  and  I  remember  my  own  boy- 
ish days,  when  I  thought  myself  a  man.' 

Mrs.  Barclay  looked  upon  her  husband  as  if  he  were  su- 
perhuman,—  and  Georgy,  throwing  herself  into  his  arms, 
wept  abundant  tears  of  joyful  gratitude  for  his  forbearance. 
Some  time  elapsed  before  they  were  sufficiently  composed 
to  descend  the  stairs,  and  many  were  the  pauses  made. 

Mrs.  Barclay  could  not  so  decidedly  imitate  the  superior 


160 


THE     BARCLAYS 


goodness  of  her  husband.  She  thought  Gerald  a  traitor,  and 
could  not  excuse  him  on  the  plea  of  his  youth.  She  be- 
lieved that  his  brother  Charley  would  never  have  so  conduct- 
ed himself.  She  had  long  perceived  his  passion  for  Grace, 
which  he  had  never,  b)'^  any  word  or  sign,  revealed  to  its 
object,  and  she  felt  there  was  a  vast  difference  between  the 
brothers.  Mrs.  Barclay  knew  Charley  to  be  the  soul  of 
honor,  and  she  hoped  that  Gerald,  having  lived  with  him, 
might  still  retain  the  germs  of  a  quality  for  which  nothing 
can  compensate.  Mr.  Barclay  had  not  mentioned  to  her 
Gerald's  obstinate  denial  of  his  marriage,  because  he  so 
thoroughly  disbelieved  him  ;  and  although  this  was  certainly 
truly  shocking  in  his  eyes,  yet  he  trusted,  —  for  he  w-as  ever 
hopeful,  —  that  time,  good  example,  and  the  influence  they 
should  all  mutually  exercise  over  him,  would  eradicate  any 
bad  qualities  he  might  possess  ;  and  with  these  benign  views 
he  gave  his  strong,  supporting  arm  to  his  child,  and,  Mrs. 
Barclay  following,  they  entered  the  library. 

Mr.  Egerton,  looking  inexpressibly  relieved,  arose,  and 
coming  forward,  entirely  screened  Gerald  Sanderson.  This 
was  well  arranged,  as  it  prevented  the  shock  of  a  sudden  in- 
terview between  tlie  youthful  pair  before  he  had  signified  his 
approval  of  their  union,  which  he  proposed  formally  to  do. 
Mr.  Egerton  received  his  niece  elect  with  a  stately,  but,  for 
him,  remarkably  softened  manner.  Me  was  evidently  much 
struck  with  her  extreme  loveliness,  and  he  cordially  wel- 
comed her  into  the  bosom  of  his  family,  at  the  same  time 
lamenting  that  in  the  excitement  of  their  departure  from  his 
own  dwelling,  he  had  neglected  to  bring  with  him  his  sister, 
Mrs.  Sanderson,  who  certainly  had  the  first  right  to  embrace 
her.  Mr.  Barclay  was  rejoiced  to  perceive  the  evidently 
agreeable  impression  his  child  had  made  on  this  hitherto 
imperturbable  personage,  (icorgiana  received  his  modula- 
ted gratulations  and  felicitations  modestly,  timidly,  and  with 
downcast  eyes  and  mantling  cheeks  she  thanked  him  for  his 
courtesies. 


OF    BOSTON.  161 

Indeed,  nothing  could  surpass  the  attraction  of  the  sweet 
young  girl,  as  she  stood  in  the  bloom  of  her  charms,  at  sev- 
enteen, with  the  radiant  curls  encircling  a  brow  polished  like 
Parian  marble,  a  voice  redolent  of  sweet  sounds,  a  fairy-like 
figure,  and  enjoying  a  character  for  unsurpassed  amia- 
bility, but  above  all,  for  the  possession  of  such  a  mother. 

Mr.  Egerton  had  always  conceived  a  very  decided  preju- 
dice for  what  he  called  a  '  good  stock ;  '  and  inwardly 
rejoiced  that  he  was  to  be  allied  to  John  Barclay  and  his 
excellent  wife  ;  at  the  same  time  he  could  not  help  thinking 
that  the  young  rascal,  his  nephew,  did  not  deserve  such  a 
rich  prize  in  the  matrimonial  lottery  for  having  so  pertina- 
ciously denied  his  marriage.  Then  he  remembered  that 
this  was  Gerald's  first  offence,  and  it  was  better  to  forgive 
and  forget. 

But  where  was  Gerald  ?  As  this  question  arose  in  his 
mind,  he  changed  his  position,  and  presenting  his  nephew  to 
Georgiana,  said  to  him,  '  Let  by-gones  be  by-gones,  Gerald  ; 
we  will  never  more  remember  what  has  passed  between  us 
to-day.  Now  let  me  see  you  embrace  your  lovely  wife,  and 
God  bless  you  both.' 

At  this  juncture  Georgiana  Barclay,  raising  her  eyes  for 
the  first  time,  with  a  piercing  and  heart-rending  shriek,  ex- 
claimed, '  Oh  God  !  this  man  is  not  Gerald  Sanderson  !  this 
man  is  not  my  husband ! '  and  fell  senseless  on  the  floor. 

14* 


162  THE    BARCLAYS 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


'  In  the  judgment  of  right  and  wrong,  every  man  has  a  self.' 

"Watts. 

When  Mr.  Egerton  and  Gerald  left  Mr.  Barclay's  mel- 
ancholy abode,  the  former,  true  to  his  established  habits, 
wended  his  way  to  his  beloved  insurance  office  as  usual. 
It  is,  however,  certain  that  there  was  a  shade  less  of  haughti- 
ness in  his  bearing  ;  his  head  was  less  elevated,  and  he 
was,  for  a  wonder,  wrapped  up  in  something  besides  him- 
self. 

Rochefaucault  has  asserted  that  there  is  something  not  un- 
pleasing  to  us  in  the  misfortunes  of  our  best  friends.  How 
many  a  time  and  oft  has  this  saying  been  quoted,  and  it  is 
not  yet  worn  out,  false  or  true  as  it  may  be  !  Mr.  Egerton, 
assuredly,  in  that  memorable  walk  deplored  the  overwhelm- 
ing calamity  which  had  befallen  such  a  thorougldy  estima- 
ble person  as  he  was  fain  to  confess  Mr.  John  Barclay  to 
be,  and  he  certainly  wished  that  this  terrible  affliction  might 
have  been  averted  from  the  head  of  a  man  whose  whole 
life  had  been  so  unspotted,  and  so  filled  with  the  milk  of 
human  kindness  towards  his  fellow-creatures.  But  then 
Mr.  Egerton  had  no  weaknesses  for  his  fellow-creatures. 
He  entertained  a  very  bad  opinion  of  human  nature,  and 
consequently  could  not  sympathize  with  those  who  looked 
upon  it  more  leniently,  or  excused  the  short-comings  of 
their  neighbors.  He  had  ever  considered  Mr.  Barclay  a 
rather  weak  and  silly  philanthropist,  giving  himself  a  vast 
deal  of  trouble   for  very  ungrateful  recipients   of  his  labors. 


OF    BOSTON.  163 

Then  there  was,  unacknowledged,  even  to  himself  a  slightly- 
envious  feeling,  mingled  with  his  other  sentiments,  touching 
this  gentleman.  Not  that  Mr.  Egerton  would  have  admitted 
the  fact  for  worlds,  but  so  it  was,  and  could  not  be  gainsay- 
ed  ;  and  thus  it  happened  that  the  Frenchman  was  right  in 
this  case.  Mr.  Egerton  certainly  then  hugged  himself  in 
his  single  blessedness,  and  thanked  his  stars,  over  and  over 
again,  that  he  was  not  cumbered  with  children  to  entail 
upon  him  such  an  accumulation  of  misery.  How  he  con- 
gratulated himself  that  he  had  never  married  !  but  this  he 
had  done  many  a  time  and  oft,  before  it  had  been  suggested 
to  him  by  Benedict  acquaintances,  (for  friends  he  had 
none,)  that  he  was  immensely  grateful  for  remarkably 
small  favors.  Still,  as  it  has  been  stated,  Mr.  Egerton  did 
not  walk  quite  as  erect  and  self-sufficicntly  as  usual.  The 
little  sympathy  he  felt  did  not,  however,  prevent  his  enter- 
taining the  whole  assembled  worthies  in  his  favorite  resort, 
maligners  and  all,  with  a  succinct  and  clear  account  of  the 
sad  scene  he  had  witnessed  that  morning.  To  do  him  jus- 
tice, he  did  not  relate  this  unpleasant  tale  from  any  gossip- 
ping  motives  ;  his  being  deeper  and  better  founded,  he  con- 
sidered himself  bound  to  exonerate  his  nephew  from  all 
suspicion.  Mr.  Egerton,  being  an  honorable  man,  wished 
nothing  that  appertained  to  himself  to  be  suspected,  and, 
moreover,  Gerald's  name  was  most  unpleasantly  mixed  up 
with  this   melancholy  adventure. 

The  tale  was  heard  with  breathless  attention  and  deep 
sympathy  by  many.  Many  who  were  parents  thanked 
God  for  his  mercies,  that  they  had  been  spared  a  like 
affliction;  some  persons  sneered,  and  declared  that  pride 
must  have  a  fall.  To  this  a  majority  demurred,  insisting 
there  was  nothing  but  a  proper  self-respect  about  Mr. 
Barclay.  Others  asserted  that  girls  should  be  shut  up  and 
not  permitted  to  run  wild  about  the  streets,  even  if  the 
schools  were  so  excellent.  Being  asked  what  they  did 
with  their   own   daughters,  it   turned    out  they   had  none. 


164  THE    BARCLAYS 

Generally,  the  feeling  excited  was  a  true-hearted  senti- 
ment of  sympathy  with  the  afflicted  parents,  and  a  profound 
indignation  against  the  young  villain  who  had  assumed  the 
name  of  Gerald  Sanderson  for  his  own  nefarious  purposes  ; 
and  joined  to  this  was  an  ardent  desire  to  discover  the  of- 
fender. In  this  Mr.  Egerton  most  sincerely  participated,  and 
resolved  to  leave  no  means  untried  until  it  was  effected. 

The  whole  history  of  Miss  Barclay's  sad  love-passage 
was  so  unfathomable  in  its  mystery,  that  there  seemed  to  be 
no  bounds  to  conjecture  ;  and  certainly,  under  no  other 
circumstances,  could  a  like  calamity  have  occurred.  But 
for  Gerald  Sanderson's  secluded  and  monastic  habits  of 
life,  no  person  would  have  dared  to  assume  his  name  in 
such  a  bold  and  darincr  manner.  Mr.  Egerton  felt  that  he 
had  not  been  blameless  in  this  case,  in  permitting  the  young 
student  to  bury  himself  alive  in  the  midst  of  a  populous 
city,  where  even  his  very  person  was  unknown  ;  and  his 
existence  would  have  been  equally  so,  save  for  the  charm- 
ingly social  and  genial  qualities  of  his  brother  Charley. 
To  this  conclusion  he  was  not  suffered  to  come  alone  ;  for 
the  maligners  were  disposed  to  attack  him  with  all  sorts 
of  annoying  remarks,  and  pelted  him  with  wise  sayings 
and  saws  innumerable.  Mr.  Egerton  also  could  not  fail  to 
perceive  that  Gerald's  reputation  would  be  tarnished,  at 
least  in  a  degree,  by  this  occurrence,  for  garbled  reports 
would  be  circulating  every  where,  in  which  his  share  must 
bear  a  distinguished  part ;  and  that,  in  fact,  the  story  would 
never  be  told  without  producing  a  certain  injurious  effect 
upon  the  reputation  of  his  nephew.  So  Mr.  Egerton  re- 
solved to  have  a  long  and  stringent  conversation  with  the 
young  gentleman,  and  point  out  to  him  the  error  of  his 
ways,  and  urge  him  to  abandon  them  ;  and  as  his  own  as- 
similated in  a  very  remarkable  manner  to  Gerald's,  this 
colloquy  promised  to  be  very  like  the  extracting  of  the  mote 
from  his  nephew's  eye,  while  the  beam  remained  in  his 
own.     It  was,  however,  fated  never  to  take  place. 


OF    BOSTON.  165 

Most  men  on  leaving  Mr.  Barclay's  gloomy  abode  would 
have  proceeded  directly  home  to  impart  the  sad  tidings  to 
sympathizing  wives,  mothers  and  sisters,  but  this  magnifi- 
cent Mandarin  held  the  whole  tribe  in  peculiarly  small 
acceptation,  and  'poor  Emma'  as  he  called  her,  least  of 
all  ;  so  he  waited  until  a  short  time  before  dinner,  and 
then  communicated  to  her  the  events  of  that  all-wretched 
day. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  was  inexpressibly  shocked  ;  it  was  true 
she  had  no  personal  acquaintance  with  the  excellent  family, 
so  suddenly  precipated  from  the  apex  of  human  prosperity 
to  an  abyss  of  sorrow  and  shame,  for  she  could  not  deny, 
even  to  herself,  though  most  unwillingly,  that  shame  was 
indeed  there, — but  she  knew  all  its  members  from  Charley's 
animated  and  glowing  descriptions.  Now,  making  all  due 
allowance  for  youthful  enthusiasm,  heightened  by  gratitude 
for  boundless  favors,  she  had  become  thoroughly  imbued 
with  a  high  sense  of  the  intrinsically  excellent  qualities  of 
all  the  members  of  Mr.  Barclay's  family,  and  totally  un- 
biased from  her  own  isolated  condition  by  its  wealth  and 
position,  she  imagined  she  had  formed  a  correct  judgment. 
Strange  to  relate,  Mrs.  Sanderson's  first  thought,  on  recover- 
ing from  the  agitation  created  by  this  sad  intelligence,  was 
for  Charley,  and  not  for  Gerald,  who  seemed,  certainly,  to 
have  been  the  doomed  victim  of  an  abominable  plot.  She 
was  fully  aware  that  Charley,  young  as  he  was,  had  an 
enduring  affection  for  Grace  Barclay,  which  would  cease 
but  with  his  existence  ;  whereas,  apart  from  Gerald's  love 
for  herself,  she  did  not  deem  him  sufiiciently  of  the  earth 
earthv,  to  be  touched  by  human  sulfering  in  any  way.  He 
had  lived  in  a  little  world  oi^  his  own,  peopled  it  might 
perchance  be,  but  not  with  living,  moving,  sentient  beings; 
and  she,  therefore,  naturally  concluded  he  would  remain 
passive  on  this  occasion,  and  she  knew  that  Charley  would 
suffer  intensely  from  the  misfortunes  of  his  friends. 

The  mother  concurred  fully  with  the  uncle  in  the  opinion, 


166  THE    BARCLAYS 

that  the  time  and  the  hour  had  arrived  for  effective  remon- 
strance, and  that  the  setting  forth  to  Gerald,  in  proper  colors, 
of  the  dangers  he  had  incurred  himself,  and  the  misery  he 
had  innocently,  but  surely,  brought  down  upon  the  devoted 
heads  of  the  Barclay  family,  would  not  fail  to  produce  a 
signal  reform  in  his  habits.  Mrs.  Sanderson  also  resolved 
to  aid  her  brother  in  his  good  work  towards  her  children, 
and  was  even  very  much  astonished  that  he  had  deigned  to 
impart  his  intentions  to  her,  it  being  certainly  one  of  the 
longest  communications  she  had  ever  received  from  Mr. 
Egerton,  and  came  nearer  to  being  confidential  than  that 
gentleman  ever  permitted  himself  to  demonstrate  to  '  poor 
Emma.'  '  Poor  Emma'  was  completely  aware  of  the  mean 
impression  entertained  of  her  abilities  by  her  brother.  IVIrs. 
Sanderson  lamented  she  had  never  presented  herself  at  the 
Barclays.  She  so  longed  to  fly  to  them  —  to  offer  assistance, 
if  necessary — to  pour  forth  her  abounding  sympathy  —  to 
tell  them  how  sincerely  she  grieved  for  their  afflictions  ;  but 
how  could  she  do  this  ?  —  a  stranger  to  them  and  theirs  ! 

Mr.  Egerton,  who  had  never,  by  any  chance  in  his  arro- 
gance, thought  himself  wrong,  seemed  to  have  caught 
glimpses  —  uncertain  and  flickering,  to  be  sure  —  that  his 
own  example  might  have  contributed  to  foster  Gerald's  nat- 
ural taste  for  solitude  ;  but  if  he  could  judge  himself  criti- 
cally, what  was  she,  the  mother  of  this  son,  to  do  ?  Bitterly 
did  she  lament  she  had  not  availed  herself,  early  in  Gerald's 
life,  of  her  maternal  influence  to  wean  him  from  the  over- 
sti'ained  indulgence  of  his  anti-social  habits  ;  that  she  had  not 
offered  herself  as  a  sacrifice,  and  even  accompanied  him 
into  the  world.  This  world  had  been  shut  out  from  her  own 
eyes  and  her  child's,  and  she  now  feared,  that  if  he  yielded 
to  her  entreaties  and  went  forth,  he  would  be  blinded  by 
excess  of  light ;  for  there  could  be  nothing  to  interpose  and 
shield  him  from  the  effects  of  the  twilight  gloom,  in  which 
he  had  hitherto  been  suffered  to  exist,  and  its  shadows  would 
continue  to  hang  around  him,  and  color  his  future  days. 


OF    BOSTON.  167 

She  also  thought,  that  if  Charley  were  but  at  home,  he 
might  exert  great  influence  over  his  brother,  in  this  emer- 
gency, and  be  of  signal  importance  to  the  unworldly  Gerald  ; 
and  sadly  she  missed  the  bright  and  cheerful  spirit  which 
had  ever  illumined  her  path,  and  who  was  separated  from 
her  by  wide  wide  seas. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  seated  herself  at  her  brother's  board 
without  the  power  to  eat  a  morsel,  the  melancholy  intelli- 
gence he  had  imparted  to  her  having  deprived  her  of  all 
appetite  for  her  meal.  Not  so  Mr.  Egerton.  He  discussed 
his  repast  precisely  as  if  nothing  had  occurred,  and,  when 
the  cloth  was  removed,  recommenced  his  conversation  with 
his  sister.  He  told  her  that  Gerald  had  hastily  quitted  him 
on  leaving  Mr.  Barclay's,  and  he  counselled  her  not  to  be 
alarmed  at  his  non-appearance  at  the  repast ;  he  would 
doubtless  return  when  he  had  gotten  over  the  ebullition  of 
his  anger,  and  his  astonishment  at  the  harassing  scenes 
through  which  he  had  that  day  passed ;  and  that  he  would 
probably  be  thereby  convinced  that  there  was  another 
mundane  sphere,  besides  the  one  in  which  he  had  always 
thought  proper  to  sojourn  —  a  little  more  worldly,  to  be  sure. 
But  Mrs.  Sanderson  could  not  be  diverted  from  her  own  sad 
reflections  even  by  the  unwonted  occurrence  of  her  brother's 
loquacity.  Her  thought  was  of  Gerald.  What  would  he  do  ? 
How  meet  this  momentous  event  in  his  life  —  the  first — and 
certainly  remarkably  extraordinaiy  in  its  complexion  !  Then, 
what  was  her  son  to  do  ?  — his  habits  broken  up  ;  his  mind 
in  a  chaos  of  ideas,  and  contending  emotions  overwhelming 
him  with  their  intensity.  Mrs.  Sanderson  regarded  her 
brother  with  a  species  of  envy,  that  he  could  so  quietly  and 
coolly  talk  over  the  troubles  which  had  befallen  the  child, 
who  was  apparently  the  least  able  to  bear  the  assaults  of 
fortune. 

How  would  Gerald  ever  be  able  to  stem  the  current 
of  the  busiest  of  communities  ?  How  was  he  to  win  his 
way  along,  coming,  as  he  naturally  must,  in  constant  col- 


168  THE    BARCLAYS 

lision  with  the  peculiarly  wide-awake  people,  whom  he 
would  ever  meet  in  the  daily  walks  of  life  ?  Alas !  these 
were  questions  she  had  often  propounded  to  herself  before 
in  a  helpless  sort  of  way  ;  now  they  arose  in  fearful  legions 
before  her  affrighted  imagination,  and  she  marvelled  how 
she  had  lived  so  long  without  comprehending  their  vital 
importance,  Mrs.  Sanderson  reproached  herself  again  and 
again  with  her  own  inertness  and  want  of  activity  and 
energy.  She  considered  herself  to  have  been  criminally 
negligent,  and  bewailed  the  absence  of  stringent  measures 
in  her  conduct  towards  the  children  she  adored.  In  fact,  so 
acutely  alive  had  she  become,  in  those  few  passing  hours, 
to  the  defects  in  her  management,  that  in  floods  of  bitter 
tears  she  wept  her  own  deficiencies,  and  —  many  will  con- 
cede—  washed  them  a\^y. 

Since  the  death  of  her  husband,  Mrs.  Sanderson's  life 
had  assumed  such  a  monotonous  complexion,  that  this  was 
the  first  grand  event  which  had  occurred,  and  portentous 
did  it  seem  to  her  in  all  its  bearings.  There  was  no  way  in 
which  she  could  regard  it  without  blaming  herself,  and  pos- 
sessing naturally  a  very  tender  conscience,  she  certainly 
spared  none  of  her  own  short-comings,  but,  in  fact,  exag- 
gerated them  immensely.  Then  arose  before  her  eyes  a 
vision  of  the  young  husband,  so  early  lost !  had  it  pleased 
God  to  spare  his  life,  how  differently  would  these  objects 
of  her  devoted  affections  have  been  educated  !  Gerald 
would  not  have  been  allowed  to  pursue  his  own  way  in 
such  a  decided  manner  —  his  enthusiastic  love  of  learning 
would  have  been  tempered  with  discretion ;  the  father 
would  have  checked  its  immoderate  indulgence,  and  looked 
to  his  physical  nurture  with  care  and  attention.  Whereas, 
what  had  she,  the  mother,  done?  Nothing  —  absolutely 
nothing!  And  now,  for  aught  she  knew,  her  son,  her 
beloved  Gerald  —  whom  no  one  valued,  no  one  appreciated 
save  herself —  might  be  ruined  by  base  suspicions  and 
dark  surmises,  impossible  to  fathom  or  to  answer.     It  was 


OF    BOSTON.  169 

too  distressing  to  dwell  upon  this  constantly,  so  she  tried 
to  divert  her  thoughts  from  dwelling  upon  the  dark  and 
gloomy  pictures  she  had  conjured  up  ;  and  then  they  reverted 
to  Mr.  Barclay's  distressed  family  —  alas  !  a  sadder  refuge. 

Mr.  Egerton,  after  the  unwonted  exertion  of  unbosoming 
himself  to  any  one,  and  that  person  a  woman,  retired  into 
the  library,  and  seating  himself  in  his  high-backed  leathern 
inconveniency,  ruminated  for  a  while ;  but  the  more  he 
reflected,  the  more  puzzled  he  became  as  to  the  person  who 
could  so  boldly  have  perpetrated  the  outrage  on  his  family 
name.  This  with  him  was  an  unpardonable  offence.  The 
world  pronounced  him  to  be  a  haughty,  pompous,  disagree- 
able, mean  man,  but  no  accusation  had  reached  his  lionor ; 
that  was  untarnished  ever.  Finding  the  chair  extremely 
uneasy,  (a  fact  which  had  been  always  apparent  to  all  his 
family,)  he  arose  and  paced  the  room  for  hours  —  an  unpre- 
cedented act  in  his  life  —  and  Peter  informed  Dinah  late 
that  very  niglit,  that  '  a  berry  'strawdinary  affair  had  hap- 
pened to  massa ;  he  had  not  sat  down  tbe  whole  evening  ! ' 

With  Mr.  Egerton  an  excitement  was  such  a  novelty,  and 
one  growing  out  of  a  partial  interest  in  the  affairs  of  others, 
that  a  sort  o^  caviare  gusto  adhered  to  it;  and  after  revolv- 
ing the  whole  story  over  in  his  mind  repeatedly,  he  actually 
commenced  taking  a  deep  and  deeper  interest  in  it,  until, 
at  last,  he  quite  fmished  by  making  it  almost  his  own.  And, 
again,  he  was  rather  sorry  he  had  spoken  so  roughly  to  the 
ever  meditative  and  gentle  Gerald,  and  was  vastly  amused 
at  the  lion  spirit  he  had  aroused  within  him.  For  Mr.  Eger- 
ton to  confess  to  himself  twice  in  one  day,  an  interest  in 
any  one,  and  a  tiny  bit  of  repentance,  was  a  miracle,  indeed  ; 
he  —  the  infallible  personage!  But  even  so  it  was.  He 
tried  to  remember  what  he  had  really  said,  in  his  fury,  to 
his  nephew,  which  had  produced  such  an  ebullition  of  tem- 
per, and  recollected  that  he  had  treated  him  very  much  like 
a  boy,  and  thereby  had  discovered  he  was  a  man.  '  Well,' 
soliloquized  the  bachelor,  '  I  may  make  something  of  that 
15 


170  THE    BARCLAYS 

young  fellow  yet,  there  is  ringing  metal  in  him.  He  showed 
fight  remarkably  well.' 

Altogether  the  day  had  not  proved  long ;  on  the  contrary, 
quite  short.  Mr.  Egerton,  being  generally  troubled  with  the 
duration  of  his  waking  hours,  cultivated  sleep  assiduously. 
With  absolutely  nothing  to  do  and  very  little  to  reflect  upon, 
life  with  him  was  rather  '  up-hill  work,'  so  he  was  quite 
pleased  on  looking  at  his  watch,  to  find  it  past  ten  o'clock. 

When  Peter  went  his  nightly  rounds  to  see  that  all  was 
safe  on  the  premises,  in  which  he  was  always  accompanied 
by  Dinah  and  the  dog,  he  discovered  with  amazement  that 
Massa  Gerald  was  not  at  home.  '  What's  going  to  happen 
next  ?  '  exclaimed  he  — '  oleMassa  up  'til  ten  and  young  one 
out !  nebber  knew  such  doins  afore.  You  go  to  bed,  ole 
woman,  and  I'll  wait  up  till  he  cum.'  W^ait  and  watch  he 
did,  until  morning  light  dawned,  and  no  Gerald  appeared  ! 
Where  that  young  gentleman  was  must  be  reserved  for 
another  chapter. 


OF    BOSTON.  171 


CHAPTER    XX. 


'  I  slept  and  dreamed  that  life  Avas  Beauty  ; 
I  woke  and  found  that  life  was  Duty  ; 
Was  then  thy  dream  a  shadowy  lie  ? 
Toil  on,  sad  heart,  courageously, 
And  thou  shalt  find  thy  dream  to  be 
A  noonday  light  and  truth  to  thee.'  —  Axon. 

The  moment  Gerald  Sanderson  parted  with  his  uncle, 
after  tlie  distressing  scene  of  which  he  had  been  an  agonized 
spectator,  he  salHed  forth  into  the  country  with  a  rapidity  of 
movement  and  a  heart-stricken  expression  that  arrested  the 
attention  of  all  he  met ;  but  little  recked  he  of  the  piercing 
glances  he  received  from  the  passers-by,  —  their  doubts  and 
surmises,  —  to  all  was  he  insensible.  Suddenly,  even  before 
he  was  aware  of  the  distance  he  had  traversed,  he  found 
himself  at  the  gates  of  the  Mount  Auburn  Cemetery,  and 
rushing  through  its  solemn  mazes  tenanted  by  the  dead,  he 
reached  his  father's  last  resting-place,  and,  throwing  himself 
beside  it,  wept  a  flood  of  tears.  These  tears,  the  first  he  had 
been  able  to  shed,  greatly  relieved  his  overcharged  heart, 
and  there  he  remained  for  hours  holding  stern  communion 
with  himself.  And  bitterly  did  he  then  lament  and  deplore 
the  passages  of  his  short  life,  and  grievously  bewail  its  mis- 
takes, its  egotism  and  self-indulgence,  which  had  not  only 
injured  his  own  well-being,  but  darkened  and  sullied  the 
future  of  the  lovely  creature  whom  he  had  just  left.  Had  he 
not  been  immured  within  his  own  four  walls  in  the  spring- 


172  THE    BARCLAYS 

time  of  life  and  enjoyment,  the  catastrophe  which  had 
brought  shame  and  desolation  to  the  heailh-stone  of  the  best 
of  men,  would  have  been  averted.  He  was  the  primary 
cause  of  this  sad  talc,  and  on  his  own  devoted  head  must 
the  blame  fall.  When  he  reflected  that,  but  for  himself 
and  his  follies,  all  would  have  been  sunshine  which  was  now 
darkness,  he  shuddered  to  think  even  death  might  ensue. 
His  brain  was  on  fire,  and,  maddened  with  remorse,  he 
gnashed  his  teeth  and  wrung  his  hands  in  the  depths  of 
tribulation. 

Strange  to  say,  he  had  never,  until  that  fatal  morning, 
seen  Georgiana  Barclay,  —  never  beheld  the  fair  form  of  one 
whom  his  brother  knew  so  well,  and  loved  even  as  his  own 
sister.  He  had  heard  Charley  dilating  upon  the  charms  of 
the  two  objects  of  his  affections  until  the  very  sound  of  their 
names,  instead  of  creating  a  desire  in  his  mind  to  behold 
these  paragons,  had  filled  it  whh  a  complete  distate  for  them, 
so  superior  did  he  consider  himself  to  the  weakness  of  ad- 
miring any  young  girl  whatever.  This  feeling  had,  at  last, 
risen  to  such  a  pitch  that  he  formally  requested  his  brother 
to  drop  his  ever-interminable  discourse  upon  the  perfections 
of  the  sisters,  as  it  had  become  extremely  tiresome  for  him 
to  listen  ;  and,  as  is  often  the  case,  having  reached  this  point, 
his  aversion  to  the  subjects  of  Charley's  extravagant  eulo- 
giums  became  more  and  more  decided.  His  brother,  always 
conceding  to  him  disputed  opinions,  had  almost  renounced 
all  mention  of  the  Barclay  family  in  his  presence,  and  made 
amends  amply  for  his  abstinence  in  that  quarter  by  never 
ceasing  to  laud  them  to  his  mother,  who  lent  an  attentive 
and  sympathizing  ear.  That  Gerald  Sanderson  had  become 
a  little  wayward  and  capricious  from  the  indulgence  of  his 
whims  at  home,  there  was  no  question  ;  and,  as  Charley  and 
his  mother  regarded  him  in  the  light  of  a  prodigy  of  learning 
and  accomj)lishment,  these  un])!easant  defects  were  making 
great  inroads  into  his  character  and  marring  its  original  ex- 
cellence.    Thus  it  happened,  that  when  the  beauteous  vision 


OF     BOSTON.  173 

of  Georgiana  Barclay  appeared  before  him,  claiming  him  for 
her  husband,  he  was  overwhelmed  with  the  magnitude  of  her 
charms,  and  his  whole  nature  seemed  to  experience  an  entire 
revolution  in  the  short  space  of  time  which  he  had  passed  in 
her  presence.  Then  to  this  was  superadded  her  despair  at 
the  treachery  which  had  been  practised  upon  her ;  and  the 
creature  who  had  fainted  at  his  feet,  a  very  statue  of  Parian 
marble,  seemed  destined  to  fill  up  with  her  host  of  attrac- 
tions, the  measure  of  his  existence.  The  first  burst  of  feel- 
ing exhausted,  he  knelt  and  prayed  for  strength  to  begin  a 
new  life,  to  cast  aside  the  visionary  dreams  in  which  he  had 
revelled,  lived,  and  had  his  being,  and  to  substitute,  in  their 
stead,  lasting  and  enduring  duties.  This  fervent  invocation 
finished,  he  vowed  to  devote  himself  to  Georgiana  Barclay 
forever,  to  defend  and  protect  her  through  all  the  manifold 
trials,  which  he  well  knew  awaited  her  in  the  vale  of  tears 
into  which  she  had  entered.  '  I  have  been,'  he  exclaimed 
passionately,  '  a  weak,  romantic  boy  ;  I  will  go  forth  from 
this  hallowed  spot  a  man.  As  my  folly  has  destroyed  the 
happiness  of  a  woman  for  whom  I  would  willingly  lay  down 
my  own  useless  life,  it  is  but  meet  that  I  should  watch  over 
her  and  protect  her.  From  this  moment  my  resolution  is 
firmly  taken  ;  it  shall  be  sacredly  kept.'  And  Gerald  San- 
derson walked  slowly  and  composedly  home,  and  stood  in 
his  mother's  presence  a  sadder  and  a  wiser  man. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  was  inexpressibly  shocked  at  his  appear- 
ance. Such  an  astonishing  change  had  the  occurrences  of 
one  day  produced.  She  begged  him  to  be  seated,  to  take 
some  slight  restorative,  for  she  was  absolutely  terrified  at  his 
exhausted  condition.  This  he  declined,  but  said  he  should 
soon  be  better  ;  that  the  melancholy  and  exciting  scenes 
through  which  he  had  passed  had  completely  unmanned 
him,  and  sleep  would  be  the  best  thing  for  him. 

Gerald  then  proceeded  to  inform  his  mother,  that,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  insulting  and  reproachful  manner  in  which 
he  had  been  assailed  by  his  uncle  in  the  morning,  he  had 
15* 


174  THE     BARCLAYS 

decided  never  to  pass  another  night  under  his  roof.  Mrs. 
Sanderson  was  inexpressibly  shocked  at  this  determination, 
but  on  hearing  a  detailed  account  of  the  interview,  she  also 
made  up  her  mind  that  her  son  could  no  longer  accept  the 
hospitality,  such  as  it  was,  of  her  ungracious  brother,  and 
consistently  with  his  own  self-respect  must  "leave  the  house 
that  very  evening.  After  some  moment's  reflection,  she 
remembered  a  quiet  and  comfortable  boarding-house  kept 
by  a  poor  widow  whom  she  had  formerly  known,  and  having 
bestowed  upon  her  afflicted  son  innumerable  little  attentions 
which  served  to  compose  his  excited  nerves,  and  bring  his 
thoughts  into  a  sufficient  degree  of  order  to  make  arrange- 
ments for  leaving,  she  proposed  to  accompany  him  and 
engage  lodgings.  To  this  he  cheerfully  acceded.  They 
soon  reached  their  destination,  and  found  a  comfortable 
chamber,  large  and  airy,  which,  from  being  in  the  third 
story  of  the  house,  was  comparatively  quite  cheap.  This 
was  a  very  important  object,  for  the  mother's  purse  was  but 
too  scantily  filled,  and  the  son  had  so  little  that  the  most 
rigid  economy  would  be  required. 

To  this  new  abode  Gerald  repaired  that  night,  and  thus  it 
happened  that  poor  old  Peter  watched  and  waited  till  morn- 
ing light  for  the  young  Massa,  his  mother  having  totally 
forgotten  to  inform  the  worthy  servitor  of  the  change  in  her 
son's  destination.  For  this  there  certainly  was  sufficient 
excuse  in  the  agitating  scenes  through  which  '  poor  Emma' 
had  passed.  She,  so  unaccustomed  to  excitement  of  any 
sort,  was  amazed,  when  she  summed  up  the  events  of  the 
day,  to  find  that  she  had  actually  been  out  of  her  own  dwel- 
ling and  ventured  into  another.  She  however  passed  a 
sleepless  night,  and  when  her  son  came  to  see  her  in  the 
morning,  she  conjectured  he  had  also  done  the  same  from 
his  wearied  and  worn  appearance.  She  determined  not  to 
notice  it,  or  in  any  way  to  advert  to  his  sufferings.  Hers 
was  the  task  to  pour  balm  into  his  bruised  spirit.  She  fully- 
understood,  from  the  half-uttered  confessions  of  the  preced- 


OF    BOSTON.  175 

ing  evening,  that  he  required  all  her  tenderness  and  care  ; 
and  when,  on  that  day,  he  poured  forth  all  the  tale  of  his 
misery  and  despair  into  her  bosom,  she  conjured  him  not  to 
dwell  upon  this  wretched  theme  until  he  could  do  so  without 
such  an  undue  degree  of  excitement.  Mrs.  Sanderson  did 
not  regret  so  much  the  view  Gerald  had  taken  of  his  inno- 
cent share  in  Miss  Barclay's  misfortunes,  for  she  at  once 
perceived  that  it  was  destined  to  be  the  source  of  a  great 
revolution  in  his  habits  and  feelings,  and  promised  to  be  of 
essential  importance  to  his  future  welfare.  So  she  essayed 
to  allay  the  outbreak  of  sensibility  with  which  he  accused 
himself  of  his  complicity,  but  at  the  same  time  did  not  deny 
what  was  self-evident  in  his  case.  She  admitted  that,  if  he 
had  lived  like  other  youths  of  his  age,  he  might  have  pre- 
vented the  assumption  of  his  name  by  an  arch-deceiver,  who 
had  basely  availed  himself  of  his  known  peculiarities  to 
insinuate  himself  into  the  confidence  of  the  young  lady  who 
had  so  severely  suffered  from  the  treachery.  At  the  same 
time  she  avowed  she  did  not  consider  Georgy  blameless, 
which  it  appeared  Gerald  did,  and  could  not  even  endure  to 
hear  this  part  of  the  story  adverted  to.  Mrs.  Sanderson  de- 
clared she  thought  Georgy's  extreme  youth  a  most  extenu- 
ating circumstance  —  her  romance  of  character  another ;  but 
her  first  duty  belonged  to  her  parents,  and  she  could  not 
herself  forget  the  deceptions  practised,  neither  could  she  for- 
give them.  '  When  she  reflected,'  she  said,  '  upon  the  ten- 
der devotion,  the  unbounded  love  and  indulgence  of  Mr.  and 
]\Irs.  Barclay  towards  their  children,  and,  moreover,  their 
admirable  management,  and  above  all  their  example,  she 
had  small  forbearance  left  for  the  girl  who  could  have  been 
so  completely  blinded  to  the  priceless  advantages  she 
enjoyed.' 

To  this  Gerald  replied  in  no  very  logical  manner,  by 
declaring  that  he  was  alone  to  blame,  that  in  his  presence 
no  man  or  woman  should  be  permitted  to  advance  aught 
in  disparagement  of  his  paragon,  that  it  was  his  decided  pur- 


176  THE    BARCLAYS 

pose  to  defend  her  character  and  reputation  at  all  hazards, 
at  all  times,  and  on  every  proper  occasion. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  was  thoroughly  convinced  that  no  true 
knight  of  old  had  ever  been  more  completely  imbued  with 
the  spirit  of  chivalrous  devotion  to  his  ladye-love  than  the 
tall,  inspired  youth  who  stood  before  her,  —  his  eyes  flash- 
ing fire,  his  whole  graceful  form  breathing  of  spirit  and 
enthusiasm.  She  was  truly  amazed  at  the  change  which 
had  come  over  the  spirit  of  his  dream,  and  the  velocity,  (no 
other  word  could  be  used  to  designate  the  metamorphosis,) 
with  which  the  whole  had  been  so  suddenly  effected,  —  and 
one  brief  day  had  done  this  work  !  But  what  cannot  one 
short  day  do  ? 

Her  mind  was  entirely  at  rest  regarding  Gerald's  every- 
day concerns,  as  he  had  informed  her  he  should  give  a 
week  to  the  prosecution  of  his  researches  for  Miss  Barclay's 
husband,  and  then  would  commence  a  life  of  unremittinf 
labor  in  his  profession  ;  always  bearing  in  mind,  however, 
that  his  first  duty  was  the  defence  of  the  fair  young  girl, 
and  the  discovery  of  her  treacherous  husband.  Evidently 
Gerald  had  nerved  himself  to  his  great  work.  His  whole 
bearing  was  a  picture  of  what  may  be  done  by  man  for 
man.  His  very  step  was  firmer  and  bolder,  and  he  already 
looked  like  a  being  of  fixed  purpose.  His  mother  watched 
him  fi'om  her  window  when  he  departed, — as  mothers 
will,  —  and  admired,  with  deep-felt  expressions  of  grati- 
tude, the  air  and  bearing  of  her  son  as  he  receded  from 
her  view. 

Mr.  Philip  Egerton,  after  a  remarkably  excellent  night's 
rest,  (he  was  not  usually  a  good  sleeper,)  arose  much  re- 
freshed and  in  uncommon  spirits,  descended  to  his  break- 
fast, and  was  informed  by  Peter  that  his  sister  had  already 
discussed  that  meal  two  hours  before. 

'  Bless  mc,'  exclaimed  he,  '  I  must  have  overslept  myself, 
—  how  extraordinary  ! ' 

Peter  imagined  the  sky  was  about  to  rain  larks,  for  this 


OF   BOSTON.  177 

late  repast,  superadded  to  all  the  other  marvels,  had  nearly- 
upset  his  not  over  well-balanced  brain.  However,  he  fidget- 
ted  about,  having  something  more  wonderful  still  to  relate, 
but  his  master  seemed  determined  to  take  no  notice  what- 
ever of  his  varied  attempts  to  commence  a  conversation,  and 
he  began  to  think  he  should  never  have  a  chance  to  impart 
his  intelligence.  Suddenly  Mr.  Egerton  remembered  he 
had  not  seen  Gerald,  and  felt  rather  inclined  to  ask  him  one 
or  two  questions  respecting  his  affairs,  his  colloquy  with 
'  poor  Emma'  having  opened  the  flood-gates  of  all  the  elo- 
quence he  possessed,  so  he  ordered  Peter  to  call  him.  This 
was  the  moment  for  that  worthy's  long  desired  explosion  ; 
but  when  it  arrived,  the  good  and  affectionate  creature  was 
so  overpowered  by  his  sorrow,  that,  instead  of  answering, 
he  burst  into  what  the  boys  call  a  '  boohoo,'  and  blubbered 
and  sobbed  in  a  whirlwind  of  griefs. 

'  What  in  the  name  of  heaven  is  the  matter  ?  '  cried  Mr. 
Egerton.     '  Is  Gerald  Sanderson  ill  ?  ' 

'  No,  sir,  no,  sir,'  stammered  Peter. 

'  Well,  what  then  ?  '  asked  his  master. 

'  He's  gone  sir,  gone  clean  away,  sir,  the  young  Massa, 
I'se  always  tended  since  lie  would  make  nasty  dirt-pies, —  to 
be  sure,  nebbcr  so  many  as  Massa  Charley,  nebber  so  un- 
common many,  but  he's  gone  for  all  that, —  and  left  olc  Dinah 
and  I,  and  his  mother,  nebbcr  to  come  home  agin,  cben 
to  hab  his  best  coat  brushed.  Oh  !  oh  !  who  will  ebber  do 
it  as  I  hab,  or  clean  his  shoes  ?  To  be  sure,  he  nebber 
dirtied  'em  much,  he  nebbcr  go  out  much,  and  now  he'll 
nebbcr  come  back  again.  Oh,  Lord  !  Oh,  Lord  !  what  will 
his  mother,  Pinah,  and  ole  Peter  and  the  dog  do  ?  Lord, 
Lord,  what  will  become  of  Dinah  and  me  and  his  mother  ! 
trunks  and  all  gone!      Oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear  ! ' 

Mr.  Egerton,  convinced  that  no  information  was  to  be 
obtained  from  this  mourner,  was  repairing  to  his  sister's 
apartment,  when,  on  the  front  staircase,  he  found  Dinah,  — 
a  second  Niobe,  —  all  tears  and  lamentations,  sitting  with 


178  THE    BARCLAYS 

her  checked  apron  over  her  head,  and  holding  Tiger's 
successor  in  her  arms,  bewailing  the  loss  of  young  Massa. 
Dinah  had  got  thus  far,  in  her  ascension  to  Mrs.  Sander- 
son, when  she  declared  she  felt  such  a  swimming  in  her 
old  head,  she  was  obliged  to  sit  right  down  on  the  grand 
staircase  —  a  liberty  she  had  never  allowed  herself  to  take 
with  the  grand  staircase  before — but  every  thing  went 
wrong  that  day,  she  said. 

Philip  began  to  think  he  should  never  reach  his  sister  and 
learn  what  had  really  happened  in  his  household ;  so,  telling 
Dinah  she  was  an  old  fool,  though  he  really  did  justice  to 
the  faithfulness  and  devotion  of  his  servants,  he  found  'poor 
Emma,'  who,  frightened  out  of  her  wits,  had  to  impart  the 
reasons  of  Gerald's  disappearance.  Having  calmly  heard 
her  story  and  also  her  approval  and  acquiescence  in  her 
son's  projects,  he  coolly  told  her  he  thought  this  might  prove 
in  the  end  the  very  best  thing  that  could  possibly  happen  to 
Gerald.  His  removal  from  his  sky  parlor  and  his  descent 
from  the  regions  of  morbid  imaginations  to  the  commonal- 
ities and  realities  of  existence  might  effect  a  radical  change 
in  his  life  ;  and,  whereas  he  would  never  have  done  any  thing 
or  made  any  thing  of  himself,  he  now  stood  a  chance  of 
becoming  a  valuable  member  of  society.  *  In  fact,'  re- 
sumed Mr.  Egerton,  '  'tis  the  very  best  news  I  can  possibly 
hear  of  that  remarkably  silly  boy.  He  actually  roused  up 
yesterday,  like  a  young  lion  from  his  lair,  and  I  hope  he 
may  continue  to  feel  precisely  as  he  now  does.  For  my- 
self, I  don't  care  a  rush  for  his  anger,  or  indignation,  —  I'm 
only  glad  he's  departed.' 

This  was  a  long  peroration  for  the  Mandarin  to  make  at 
one  sitting  ;  so,  having  delivered  himself  of  it,  he  quickly 
repaired  to  his  old  arm-chair  in  State  street  and  his  dozen 
newspapers,  and  spoke  never  a  word  more  that  morning. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  descended  to  tiie  kitchen  and  did  her  best 
to  assuage  the  unlimited  bewailings  and  bowlings  of  the 
sable  pair  in  their  own  favored  spot ;  but  finding  they  insisted 


OF    BOSTON.  179 

upon  nursing  their  grief,  she  left  them  to  the  ample  enjoy- 
ment they  seemed  to  derive  from  their  luxury  of  woe,  at 
the  same  time,  thanking  them  sincerely  for  their  heartfelt 
sympathy. 


180  THE    BARCLAYS 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


•  The  glories  of  our  earthly  state, 
Are  shadows,  not  substantial  things.' 

Shirley. 


Mr.  Barclay,  raising  his  insensible  child  from  the  floor, 
bore  her  tenderly  in  his  arms  to  her  chamber,  and  laying 
her  carefully  upon  her  bed,  instantly  summoned  his  servants 
and  sent  in  every  direction  for  medical  assistance.  The 
stricken  father  was  quite  assured  that  this  terrible  shock 
would  produce  the  most  dangerous  results,  and  so  it  proved ; 
for  as  soon  as  Georgy  was  restored  to  consciousness,  her 
brain  seemed  literally  on  fire,  and  for  hours,  ravings  and 
faintings  followed  each  other  in  rapid  succession.  At  night, 
when  it  was  pronounced  to  be  a  brain  fever,  the  mother 
took  her  place  at  the  bedside  of  the  sufferer,  and  watching 
over  her  in  intense  anguish  of  spirit,  prayed  that  this  bitter 
cup  might  pass  away,  and  the  life  of  the  beloved  object  of 
her  affections  might  be  spared.  An  experienced  nurse,  who 
had  been  employed,  vainly  essayed  to  urge  Mrs.  Barclay  to 
take  some  repose,  but  the  next  morning  found  her  on  the 
same  spot,  worn  with  fatigue  and  sorrow.  The  medical 
men,  in  their  consultation  that  day,  declared  that  the  patient 
was  in  a  most  critical  state,  and  that  no  opinion  could  be 
pronounced  for  many  days,  or  even  weeks ;  that  the  malady 
being  a  moral  one,  as  well  as  physical,  was  all  the  more 
difficult  to  treat,  and  the  more  uncertain  to  decide  upon  its 
future  course  ;  that  time  could  only  answer  the  anxious  ques- 
tionings of  the  half-distracted  parents.     With  these  opinions 


OF   BOSTON.  181 

the  members  of  this  family  were  fain  to  remain  in  a  state  of 
heart-rending  suspense. 

As  the  most  profound  silence  was  enjoined,  no  one  but 
the  nurse  and  one  other  person  was  allowed  to  remain  in 
Georgy's  chamber,  her  poor  father  eveiy  now  and  then 
creeping  to  the  bedside,  and  taking  just  a  hurried  look  at  the 
sufferer.  Mr.  Barclay  could  not  be  persuaded  to  leave  the 
house.  He  however  received  all  his  friends,  who  gathered 
around  him  in  deep  sympathy  with  his  affliction.  Several 
of  these  sympathizers,  with  the  very  best  possible  feelings, 
suggested  that  the  whole  truth  of  the  sad  story  might  not 
be  revealed,  and  that  the  marriage  had  better  not  be  avowed. 
As  they  rather  urged  this  course,  he  replied,  — '  I  could 
never  consent  that  there  should  be  any  concealment  what- 
ever, and  that  the  whole  truth  and  nothing  short  of  it  should 
be  given  to  the  public.  For,'  resumed  he,  '  you  may  de- 
pend upon  what  I  say,  the  people  liere  never  believe  any 
part  of  a  story  where  one  half  of  it  is  left  unrevealed ;  but, 
let  them  at  once  know  the  whole  truth,  and  they  will  imme- 
diately begin  to  find  excuses  and  apologies  for  almost  any 
thing,  and  especially  for  the  errors  of  extreme  youth.  I 
have  known,'  he  said,  'the  most  wretched  falsehoods  adhere 
to  whole  families  for  half  a  century,  when,  if  at  first  all  the 
incidents  of  the  cases  had  been  freely  communicated  to  the 
public,  the  whole  thing  would  have  dissolved  itself  into  thin 
air  in  a  month.  No,  no,  my  dear  friends,  I  sincerely  thank 
you  for  your  kindness,  but  my  mind  is  made  up  on  this 
point.' 

Mr.  Richard  Barclay,  who  had  evinced  the  most  profound 
sympathy  and  sorrow  on  learning  the  sad  story  of  his  be- 
loved brother's  calamity,  was  foremost  in  these  entreaties 
for  silence  ;  but  on  listening  to  Mr.  Barclay's  opinions,  he 
said  :  — 'I  don't  know  that  you  are  not  all  right,  John,  after 
all ;  for  of  one  thing  I  am  perfectly  sure,  nothing  could  be 
concealed  from  the  American  people ;  they  ferret  every 
thing  fairly  out,  sooner  or  later ;  so  perhaps  it  is  best  to  give 
16 


182  THE    BARCLAYS 

the  whole  story  at  once  ;  for,  if  you  do  not,  as  they  are  very 
imaginative  in  this  sort  of  affairs,  they  will  finish  by  making 
it  twenty  times  worse  than  it  is.' 

'  Alas  !  my  dear  brother,'  replied  Mr.  Barclay, '  that  seems 
to  me  just  now  quite  impossible.' 

'  You  will  think  differently  in  time,'  rejoined  Mr.  Richard. 
'  You  must  let  things  take  their  accustomed  course,  John ; 
the  nine  days'  wonder  of  talk  will  inevitably  occur  ;  you  well 
know  how  the  public  revels  in  disagreeable,  melancholy  and 
horrid  events,  and  how  it  delights  in  disseminating  the  story 
of  them.  Who  ever  hears  a  pleasant  bit  of  news  here  ? 
Nobody.  But  if  there  is  any  thing  so  shocking  it  abso- 
lutely makes  one's  heart  ache  to  listen  to  it,  somebody 
must  needs  put  on  his  seven-leagued  boots  and  come  to 
spoil  one's  dinner  with  the  recital  thereof.  Nobody  ever 
told  me  an  agreeable  thing  in  my  natural  life,  and  nobody 
ever  will.  Why,  I've  heard,  between  the  pirouettes  in  a 
quadrille,  talk  about  a  horrid  murder  or  shipwreck,  which 
would  go  far  to  making  your  hair  stand  on  end.  It's  our 
way,  and  a  mighty  disagreeable  one  it  is.  Why  can't  we 
be  smiling  and  gracious  like  the  French  ?  It  all  comes  of 
our  descent  from  that  Melpomene-loving  John  Bull.  I  wish 
most  heartily  we  had  possessed  another  grandfather.' 

And  thus  Mr.  Richard  scolded  on ;  the  affliction  which 
had  befallen  his  brother  not  having  tended  to  sweeten  the 
acerbity  of  his  temper,  he  always  choosing  to  regard  misfor- 
tunes in  the  light  of  personal  aggressions.  This  certainly 
might  not  have  appeared  to  be  an  opportune  occasion  for  the 
expression  of  such  strong  and  decided  prejudices,  but  they 
belono-ed  to  his  overloaded  fas-frot,  and  he  had  been  so  lon<T 
grumbling,  that  it  had  become  an  inveterate  habit,  of  which 
he  could  not  rid  himself,  and,  to  do  him  all  imaginable  jus- 
tice, of  which  he  was  quite  unconscious.  This  over-critical 
and  carping  personage  would  have  regarded  just  such  a 
declaimer  against  things,  all  and  several,  as  himself,  an 
intolerable  bore,  and  would  have  found  it  quite  impossible  to 


OF    BOSTON.  183 

endure  his  presence  even  an  hour ;  but  Mr.  Richard  Barclay- 
was  no  exception  to  the  general  rule  of  man's  blindness  to 
his  own  peculiarities. 

These  criticisms  upon  men  and  things  in  his  own  country, 
had  grown  by  what  they  fed  on,  until  they  had  assumed  ex- 
trd^vagant  proportions,  and  had  been  so  mingled  with  Mr. 
Richard's  daily  conversation,  that,  however  deeply  interest- 
ing, and  even  poignantly  so,  as  in  this  case  the  subject 
might  be,  it  was  evermore  sure  to  be  garnished  with  a  few 
nettles,  and  very  stinging  they  were,  as  the  reader  well 
knows.  Here  was  a  man,  his  heart  actually  bleeding  for  the 
woes  of  his  best  friends,  and  which  might  assuredly  seem 
all  absorbing,  —  and  yet,  such  was  the  tyranny  of  a  bad 
habit,  that  he  could  not  abstain  from  it,  even  upon  the  most 
momentous  occasions.  Truly  do  we  build  around  us  impen- 
etrable walls  of  hewn  granite,  prison-houses  from  which  we 
cannot  escape. 

On  that  day  Mr.  Barclay  received  Gerald  Sanderson,  who, 
after  walking  hours  before  the  house,  at  last  ventured  to  ring 
the  door-bell,  and  request  an  audience.  Poor  Gerald  was 
entirely  overwhelmed  with  affliction  when  he  beheld  the 
father  of  the  woman  whom  he  had  solemnly  sworn  to  defend 
and  protect.  Mr.  Barclay  himself,  so  affected  he  could 
hardly  give  him  an  audible  welcome,  listened  in  wrapt  and 
mournful  attention  to  the  outpourings  of  the  youthful  enthu- 
siast, as  he  detailed  the  misery  he  endured,  his  sorrow 
and  grief.  Indeed,  as  soon  as  he  had  mastered  his  own 
emotion,  he  applied  himself  vigorously  to  soothing  the  suffer- 
ings of  the  sorely  stricken  youth,  who  poured  out  his 
feelings  in  the  most  affecting  terms.  When  some  degree 
of  composure  had  been  secured,  Mr.  Barclay  assured  and 
re-assured  Gerald  Sanderson  that  he  considered  him  en- 
tirely free  from  blame  —  and  begged  him  to  think  nothing 
of  the  unhappy  circumstance,  and  conjured  him  not  to  dwell 
any  longer  upon  it.  To  this  Gerald  replied,  that  it  was  en- 
tirely impossibly  for  him  to  do  otherwise,  it  being  his  daily 


184  THE     BARCLAYS 

thought  and  nightly  dream  ;  and  that,  while  the  life  current 
flowed  in  his  veins,  so  should  it  ever  be.  That  he  was  im- 
peratively called  upon  to  be  Miss  Barclay's  champion,  and 
had  vowed  himself  to  her  cause,  as  truly  and  devotedly  as 
ever  did  knight  of  old  ;  that  nothing  should  deter  him  from 
trying  to  drag  to  light  the  usurper  of  his  name,  and  expose 
his  falsehood  and  treachery,  and  he  should  never  again 
sleep  in  peace  until  that  was  effected. 

This  interview  was  not  without  its  beneficial  effects  upon 
Mr.  Barclay,  who  found  himself  thus  obliged,  in  his  own 
misery,  to  minister  to  the  '  mind  diseased  '  of  another.  He 
comforted  and  soothed  his  half-distracted  young  friend,  and 
having  retained  him  several  hours,  begged  him  to  visit 
him  as  often  as  he  could. 

The  intense  sympathy  which  Gerald  had  shown  for  the 
sufferings  of  himself  and  family,  had  greatly  interested  the 
unhappy  father,  and  he  perceived  that  he  was  indeed  one 
who  could  probe  the  veriest  depths  of  their  atllictions  from 
the  intensity  of  his  own. 

Mr.  Barclay  also  beheld  a  sensitive  and  shrinking  nature, 
united  to  great  tenderness  and  manliness  of  character,  awak- 
ing from  a  species  of  torpor  which  had  encompassed  it, 
avowing  its  nobleness  and  chi^■alr\' ;  he  beheld  it  with  a 
feeling  of  deep  interest  mingled  with  a  strong  sentiment  of 
gratitude.  And  how  could  he  but  choose  be  grateful  to  one 
who,  in  the  sincerity  of  his  heart,  had  sworn  allegiance 
to  the  'bruised  reed,'  now  lying  perchance  on  her  bed  of 
death  .^ 

Mr.  Barclay's  piety  was  of  a  healthful,  cheerful  character, 
and  confiding  nature  ;  he  knew  that  '  whom  the  Lord  loveth 
he  chasteneth,'  and  this  conviction  was,  for  him,  a  source 
of  perpetual  consolation  and  gratitude.  He  regarded  his 
present  atlliction  as  no  special  punishment,  he  beheld  the 
rain  fall  alike  on  tlie  just  and  the  unjust,  and  he  knew  the 
ways  of  Providence  to  be  dark  and  mysterious,  but  ever 
wise  and  merciful  ;  he  acknowledged  that  he  had  enjoyed  a 


OF    BOSTON.  185 

larger  proportion  of  prosperity  than  usually  falls  to  the  lot 
of  mortals,  and  so  believing,  he  bowed  himself  submissively 
before,  what  would  seem  to  be  the  law  of  man's  nature, 
partial  suffering  and  sorrow. 

Mr,  Barclay's  life  had  been  one  of  faith  and  works.  To 
the  best  of  his  ability  he  had  husbanded  the  talent  confided  to 
him,  but  he  had  seen  good  men  and  true,  whom  he,  in  his 
humility,  considered  infinitely  superior  to  himself,  exposed  to 
long  trains  of  afflictions  and  privations;  and  he  resolved, 
come  what  would,  to  bear  his  cross  meekly,  patiently,  and 
await  the  final  hour  when  all  things  should  be  revealed. 
With  this  state  of  mind  this  good  man  mingled  no  com- 
plaints or  repinings,  for  he  was  devoutly  grateful  for  the 
blessings  he  still  retained. 

And  night  found  the  patient  restless,  fevered  and  deliri- 
ous, not  even  recognising  the  gentle  touch  of  her  grieving 
mother,  who,  hovering  around  her  pillow,  was  ever  adminis- 
tering unavailing  remedies.  And  day  succeeded  to  day  and 
week  to  week,  without  any  material  change  for  the  better; 
to  be  sure,  the  phases  of  her  complaint  varied,  and  at  last 
typhoid  seemed  to  be  rooted  in  her  exhausted  frame ;  to 
this  was  added  such  complete  prostration  that  every  moment 
threatened  to  be  her  last. 

When  Georgiana  Barclay  was  first  taken  ill,  her  father 
had  only  entered  her  room  to  give  one  look  at  his  suffering 
child,  but  as  the  malady  gained  ground  and  the  symptoms 
changed,  and  she  becoming  every  day  weaker,  he  was 
required  to  lift  her,  which  doing  so  gently  and  firmly  she 
seemed  to  prefer  his  aid  to  that  of  any  other  person  ;  then  he 
began  to  pass  the  nights  by  her  bedside,  forcing  his  wife  to  take 
some  needful  repose  the  while,  for  she  was  nearly  exhausted 
with  fatigue  from  constant  watching.  And  thus  Mr.  Barclay 
came  to  guard  and  protect  this  young  creature  in  the  still 
hours  of  the  night,  and  his  spirit  sank  within  him  as  he 
looked  upon  the  attenuated  form  of  his  idolized  child,  and 
communed  with  himself  upon  her  probable  future  destiny, 
16* 


186 


THE    BARCLAYS 


should  it  please  God  to  spare  her  life.  And  a  thorny  path 
was  in  this  perspective ;  narrow  and  rugged  the  way.  The 
mystery  of  her  marriage,  were  it  revealed  or  not,  promised 
nothing  but  misery,  for  surely  the  wretch,  who  could  have 
thus  deceived  her,  was  utterly  unworthy  to  be  claimed  as 
her  husband,  even  should  he  prove  to  belong  to  the  most 
virtuous  family  in  the  land ;  and  if  he  did  not,  what  was  he  ? 
—  who  was  he  ?  Soul-harrowing  questions  were  these  for  a 
parent  to  ask  of  himself,  with  no  possibility  of  being  an- 
swered. Mr.  Barclay  firmly  believed  in  his  daughter's  state- 
ment ;  he  knew  her  to  be  the  soul  of  truth  and  honor,  but 
could  he  ask  the  same  reliance  on  her  testimony  from  others  ? 
She  was  henceforth,  in  the  event  of  her  restoration  to  health, 
to  walk  through  life,  bearing  a  blighted  name  ;  enshrouded 
in  darkness,  unenlivened  by  a  ray  of  light,  if  her  husband 
were  not  discovered,  and  if  he  were,  the  deepest  obscurity 
might  be  preferable.  How  truly  then  would  Georgiana 
require  the  strong  arm  of  her  father  to  support  her  fainting 
steps,  and  her  loving  mother's  sympathy  in  this  profound  af- 
fliction, to  which  would  be  superadded  the  harrowing  con- 
viction that  all  this  trouble  had  been  caused  by  her  own 
imprudence  and  misconduct. 

The  father  also  trembled  for  the  accusations  which  her 
overcharged  conscience  would  perpetually  elicit,  and  the 
reproaches  of  tliis  inward  monitor  he  conceived  would  be 
ceaseless.  What  a  sad  picture  of  human  suffering  was  pre- 
sented to  his  imagination,  —  and  who  was  the  victim?  his 
beloved  child,  —  his  first-born,  who  had  awakened  in  his 
heart  the  first  enthralling  sentiment  of  paternity. 

Oh  !  the  dark,  dark  hours  of  those  protracted  vigils  !  they 
contained  months  of  torturing  reflections,  unresolved  doubts, 
and  soul-searching  bitterness,  which  nothing,  save  prayer, 
could  mitigate  or  assuage.  On  the  first  revelation  of  this 
affliction  he  had  thourfht  of  abandoning  Boston  and  all  his 
pursuits,  and  retreating  into  the  country,  there  to  bury  his 
daughter's  shame  and  sorrow ;  but,  after  mature  reflection,  be 


OF    BOSTON.  187 

became  convinced  of  the  impropriety  of  such  a  proceeding, 
as  it  might  give  rise  to  more  suspicions  than  already  existed  ; 
so  he  resolved  to  remain.  There  were  doubts  to  be  re- 
moved, and  he  trusted  in  Providence  that  his  child's  inno- 
cence would  be  proved  ;  for  he  knew  that,  if  human  efforts 
could  effect  this,  he  and  his  numerous  friends  would,  in  the 
end,  discover  the  mystery. 

And  surely  man  was  never  blessed  with  more  ardent  and 
enthusiastic  supporters  than  was  Mr.  Barclay.  They  vowed 
never  to  desist  from  the  search  for  the  wretch  who  had 
assumed  Gerald  Sanderson's  name  ;  and  one  and  all  de- 
clared they  should  never  be  satisfied  until  they  had  dragged 
him  to  light. 

Mrs.  Ashley  had  almost  lived  in  the  house  during  the  long 
illness  of  her  darling;  refusing  all  other  engagements,  she 
installed  herself  every  morning  in  the  library,  ever  ready  to 
be  occupied  about  the  patient,  who  sometimes  appeared  to 
derive  comfort  from  her  presence. 

Mr.  Richard  had  evinced  the  devotion  and  tenderness  of 
one  of  the  sex  whom  he  had  always  affected  to  despise, 
and,  though  he  Avas  not  exactly  the  person  to  be  found 
serviceable  in  a  sick  room,  he  could  give  his  unrepressed 
sympathy.  He  was  constantly  running  all  over  Boston,  and 
sending  to  New  York  for  delicacies  which  his  poor  niece 
could  not  touch  when  they  arrived,  and,  moreover,  he  en- 
tirely forgot  to  find  fault  with  his  pet  dislike,  Mrs.  Ashley ; 
the  strongest  proof  he  could  possibly  evince,  of  the  all- 
absorbing  nature  of  his  grief;  also  he  made  no  comments 
upon  Miss  Tidmarsh.  Mrs.  Gordon,  ever  active  and  ener- 
getic, employed  herself  assiduously  in  assisting  Mrs.  Bar- 
clay, whose  patience  and  fortitude  seemed  absolutely  undy- 
ing ;  and  even  Mrs.  Redmond  aroused  herself  sufficiently  to 
insist  upon  doing  something,  though  what  that  something 
was  to  be,  nobody  very  well,  comprehended. 

Georgy's  young  friends  actually  besieged  the  house  with 
proffers  of  aid  from  their  parents  and  themselves,  and  every 


188  THE    BARCLAYS 

thing  was  done  that  kindliness  of  heart  and  feeling  could 
suggest  to  alleviate  the  suffering  family. 

At  last,  there  appeared  a  change  for  the  better ;  at  first 
so  slight  as  to  be  hardly  perceptible,  but  slowly,  every  day 
increasing,  and  yet  the  medical  men,  in  attendance,  would 
pronounce  no  distinctly  favorable  opinion.  In  time,  how- 
ever, youth  rallied  and  conquered,  and  Georgiana  Barclay 
was  raised  from  her  deathlike  prostration,  and  pronounced 
out  of  all  danger.  With  what  intense  feelings  of  grateful 
devotion  her  father  and  mother  received  this  joyful  intelli- 
gence, there  is  small  occasion  for  recounting.  Suffice  to 
say,  they  poured  forth  their  surcharged  hearts  in  earnest 
and  solemn  thanks  to  the  Source  from  which  emanated  this 
great  and  abounding  mercy,  and  asserted  that  all  was  well 
with  them.  They  would  bow,  they  declared,  with  childlike 
submission  to  the  infliction  which  had  been  sent  in  the  secret 
marriage  of  their  daughter,  —  for  was  she  not  spared  unto 
them  ?  all  other  misfortunes  had  paled  before  the  harrowing 
thought  of  her  death.  Nothing  was  remembered  but  her 
restoration  from  the  fell  destroyer,  and  they  thanked  God 
for  his  signal  mercies,  and  repeated  and  reiterated  that  all 
was  well  with  them. 


OF    BOSTON.  189 


CHAPTER    XXII. 


'  There's  not  a  look,  or  word  of  thine 
My  soul  hath  e'er  forgot ; 
Thou  ne'er  hast  bid  a  ringlet  shine, 
Nor  giv'n  thy  locks  one  graceful  twine. 
Which  I  I'emember  not.' 

Moore. 

Mrs,  Redmond  was  sitting,  dozing  over  a  yellow-covered 
novel  of  the  worst  possible  sort  —  its  cover  as  dirty  as  its 
contents  —  and  every  now  and  then  taking  a  peep  through 
her  torn  lace  curtains  at  the  Barclay  house,  when  Jane  and 
Miss  Tidmarsh  rushed  in.  Miss  Serena  resembled,  on  this 
momentous  occasion,  an  overboiling  cauldron,  and  Jane  was 
so  breathless  with  the  news  she  had  to  impart,  that  slie  could 
not  speak  for  several  minutes. 

Mrs.  Redmond,  at  last,  becoming  conscious  by  unmistaka- 
ble signs,  that  there  was  an  explosion  somewhere,  aroused 
herself  sufficiently  to  inquire  what  it  was ;  so  she  said, 
'  What  have  you  to  tell,  girls  .''  what  has  happened.^  ' 

'Oh,'  almost  shrieked  Jane,  'such  an  adventure  at  our 
neighbors  the  Barclays;    such  a  story  !  such  a  hubbub  ! ' 

'  Ah  ! '  said  her  mother,  with  a  sort  of  half-awakened, 
half-bewildered  air,  '  any  thing  wrong  there  ^  —  any  mis- 
chief ?  ' 

*  Mischief,  and  to  spare,  my  mother,'  was  the  reply  ; 
'  there  is  Grcorgiana  Barclay,  who,  it  appears,  has  been  mar- 
ried a  long  time,  as  she  thought,  to  that  bit  of  dream-land, 
Gerald  Sanderson ;  and  having,  only  yesterday,  confessed 
her  wicked  doings  to  her  parents  —  though  why  she  did  it 


190  THE    BARCLAYS 

now  nobody  can  tell  —  this  has  naturally  created  the  most 
intense  commotion.  Now,  you  perceive  what  your  model 
is,  I  hope  —  the  girl  you  have  always  held  up  to  me  for  ex- 
ample !  Well,  Mr.  Barclay  instantly,  on  the  reception  of  this 
terrible  communication  being  made  to  him,  posted  down  to 
Mr.  Egerton's,  saw  the  old  miser,  who  vomited  forth  fire  and 
flames  in  his  anger —  and  between  the  two,  poor  frightened 
Gerald  was  dragged  down  from  the  upper  regions  of  the  old 
house,  where  he  studies  the  stars ;  and,  both  abusing  him  at 
once  for  his  treachery  and  duplicity,  placed  him  in  a  car- 
riage, and  went,  as  fast  as  the  horses  could  carry  them,  to 
Mr.  Barclay's.'  Then  Jane  made  a  solemn  pause,  and  look- 
ing her  mother  in  the  face,  appeared  to  enjoy  immensely 
her  great  excitement. 

'  Oh,  this  is  too,  too  shocking  to  believe,'  cried  Mrs.  Red- 
mond ;  '  how  very  sad  indeed  ! ' 

'  I  can  yet  tell  you  something  worse  still,'  said  Jane  :  — 
'  Lo  !  and  behold  !  when  Gerald'  Sanderson  was  confronted 
with  Georgy  Barclay,  they  had  beheld  each  other  for  the 
very  first  time  in  their  natural  lives  !  He  was  not  the  right 
man  !  some  one  else  had  assumed  his  name.' 

Then  Jane  Redmond,  having  produced  the  unheard-of 
circumstance  of  thoroughly  arousing  her  dormant  parent, 
indulged  in  a  loud  and  malicious  burst  of  laughter. 

Mrs.  Redmond  had  never  been  charged  with  an  overflow 
of  affection  for  her  neighbors  ;  but  she  was  a  mother,  and 
she  felt  that  this  was  a  load  of  grief  and  suffering  almost  too 
great  for  human  endurance.  She  exclaimed  :  '  How  can 
you  be  so  hard-hearted  as  to  laugh  and  mock  at  such  mis- 
ery as  the  Barclays  must  suffer  ?  Shame  !  shame  on  you, 
my  daughter.' 

'  La,  mother!'  cried  Jane,  '  you  seem  to  have  changed 
all  of  a  sudden,  it  seems  to  me,  and  have  begun  to  stand  by 
that  disagreeable  family  ;  for  my  part,  I  rejoice  that  pride 
has  had  a  downfall.' 

'  And  I  also,'  chimed  in  Miss  Tidmarsh. 


OF    BOSTON.  191 

It  seemed,  at  that  moment,  as  if  Mrs.  Redmond  had,  for 
the  first  time,  comprehended  how  culpable  had  been  her 
neglect  of  her  child,  and  how  much  she  had  to  answer  for 
at  the  great  tribunal,  where  all  are  weighed  in  the  balance. 
Here  was  a  creature,  confided  to  her  charge  by  the  Al- 
mighty, who  had  been  permitted  to  foster  such  evil  passions 
as  made  her  own  mother's  blood  curdle  in  her  veins ;  her 
eyes  opened  to  the  total  want  of  care  in  her  management 
of  this  child,  her  own  indolence  and  apathy,  and  her  own 
consequent  unhappiness.  'Jane,'  said  she,  solemnly,  'can 
you  possibly  forget  when  little  Mary  laid  insensible  ;  when 
we  had  all  renounced  even  a  shadow  of  hope  ;  when  I,  her 
mother,  who  never  despair,  had  made  up  my  mind  that  I 
must  resign  my  youngest  born,  —  can  you  forget,  I  repeat, 
that  Mrs.  Barclay,  with  energetic  confidence,  almost  breathed 
the  breath  of  life  into  your  sister  by  her  innumerable  appli- 
cations and  frictions,  —  how  she  watched  over  her  day  and 
night,  until  she  was  pronounced  out  of  danger,  and  then 
crept  silently  out  of  the  house  to  avoid  our  acknowledg- 
ments ?  Thank  God,  I,  at  least,  expressed  my  undying 
gratitude  to  that  woman  for  her  kindness.' 

'  Miss  Serena  Tid marsh,'  said  she,  addressing  her  partic- 
ularly, '  you  will  please  to  walk  immediately  out  of  my 
doors,  and  never  do  you  re-enter  them  again.  I  have  long 
thought  your  society  was  a  great  injury  to  my  daughter, 
whom  I  devoutly  hope  is  not  as  malicious  as  she  seems  to 
be.  I  therefore  desire  her  to  hold  no  further  communion 
with  you.' 

Miss  Serena  forthwith  made  her  exit,  in  a  very  crest- 
fallen manner,  which,  to  say  the  least,  was  very  difierent 
from  her  entrance.  Mrs.  Redmond  then  ordered  Jane  to 
her  chamber  for  the  day,  which  command  the  young  lady 
sullenly  obeyed,  and,  once  there,  cried  heartily  from  mere 
spite,  but  having  exhausted  her  tears,  recommenced  her 
accustomed  operations  of  watching  the  Barclay's  house. 
The    fact  was,  that   Jane   Redmond's   incurable  fancy  for 


192  THE    BARCLAYS 

knowing  and  settling  other  people's  affairs,  and  her  insatiate 
thirst  for  scandal,  which  had  been  encouraged  by  her  bosom 
friend,  Miss  Tidnnarsh,  had  so  completely  vitiated  a  heart 
naturally  none  of  the  best,  that  no  favorable  impression 
could  be  made  upon  it ;  at  least  by  her  mother  whose  inert- 
ness and  indolence  she  despised. 

Thus  Mrs.  Redmond  even  reaped  as  she  had  sowed,  and 
finding  that  she  possessed  no  influence  whatever  over  her 
daughter,  she,  that  very  day,  resolved  that  Mary  Redmond, 
a  promising  girl,  should  be  instantly  removed  from  her 
sister's  contaminating  presence,  and  this  was  shortly  effect- 
ed. Mary,  incessantly  domineered  over  and  thwarted  by 
Jane,  was  delighted  to  hear  that  she  was  to  be  sent  to  a 
good  boarding-school.  There  was  but  one  drawback  to  her 
happiness,  and  that  was  her  separation  from  her  friend  Kate 
Barclay,  whom  she  really  loved,  though  now  and  then  she 
teased  her  a  little.  She  crossed  the  street,  imparted  to  her 
this  pleasant  intelligence,  and  embracing  her  again  and 
again,  took  an  affectionate  farewell  of  her. 

When  Robert  Redmond  returned  home  to  dinner,  his 
countenance  well  betrayed  his  feelings  ;  not  a  moi-sel  could 
he  swallow,  and  at  last,  fairly  overcome,  he  left  the  table. 
His  mother  immediately  following  him,  he  threw  himself  on 
her  neck  and  wept  like  a  child.  Mrs.  Redmond  loved  her 
son,  now  she  respected  him  ;  so  great  was  the  contrast  be- 
tween him  and  his  hard-hearted  sister.  She  informed  him 
that  she  had  literally  turned  Miss  Tidmarsh  out  of  doors, 
and  also  imparted  her  determination  to  send  Mary  to  school, 
and  to  this  plan  he  gave  his  unqualified  approbation.  Apart 
from  his  knowledge  of  the  pernicious  influence  exercised 
over  Jane  by  Miss  Tidmarsh,  he  was  greatly  relieved  by  her 
banishment,  for  she  had  lately  taken  into  her  silly  head  a 
project  of  enslaving  him,  which  she  seemed  disposed  to  carry 
into  effect  by  main  force. 

Poor  Robert !  he  certainly  did  consider  this  an  infliction, 
and  often  asked  himself  what  great  sin  he  had  committed 


OF    BOSTON.  103 

to  merit  such  a  punishment.  Wherever  he  went  he  was 
sure  to  find  Miss  Tidmarsh  ;  she  was  certain  to  be  returning 
home  at  the  precise  moment  he  went  to  his  meals,  and  ever 
just  about  to  take  a  walk  as  he  left  his  house.  She  literally 
haunted  his  steps,  and  actually  made  him,  at  times,  quite 
nervous.  It  being  extremely  easy  for  her  to  know  all  his 
movements  from  Jane,  who  never  dreamed  of  her  friend's 
projects,  she  was  always  at  the  right  moment  in  the  right 
place,  in  her  own  view  of  the  subject ;  Mr.  Robert  Redmond 
being  of  a  totally  different  opinion. 

It  may  be  asked  where  was  Mr.  Redmond  on  this  day 
when  his  best  friend's  home  was  filled  with  grief  and  sorrow. 
He  came  to  his  dinner  and  received  the  sad  intelligence 
with  sundry  ejaculations,  evidently  not  comprehending  it  at 
all ;  his  head  being  filled  with  a  patent  case,  he  was  revolv- 
ing machinery,  and  arranging  all  its  knotty  points.  One 
week  afterwards,  the  suit  being  decided  in  his  favor,  he  had 
leisure  to  feel  quite  sorry  for  Mr.  Barclay's  affliction. 

In  the  evening,  Robert  Redmond  held  a  confidential  con- 
versation with  his  mother,  in  which  he  imparted  to  her  his 
long  cherished  affection  for  Georgiana  Barclay.  '  He  could 
hardly,'  he  said,  '  remember  when  it  began,  and  he  felt,  now 
that  she  was  lost  to  him  forever,  immeasurably  wretched.' 
He  was  greatly  indignant  at  the  author  of  her  misery, 
and  declared  he  would  give  ten  years  of  his  life  to  dis- 
cover her  husband.  Never  for  a  moment  doubted  he  the 
truth  of  the  unhappy  young  creature's  story,  nor  did  his 
mother ;  they  well  knew  she  was  truthful  and  honorable. 
Mrs.  Redmond,  who  felt  grieved  that  she  had  permuted 
herself  ever  to  believe  aught  in  disparagement  of  her  valu- 
able neighbors,  or  to  entertain  any  prejudice  whatever 
against  them,  dwelt  with  feelings  of  gratitude  on  Mrs.  Bar- 
clay's kindness  during  Mary's  recent  illness,  and  the  atten- 
tive devotion  it  had  elicited.  Indeed,  that  day  proved  an 
era  in  her  existence,  dispelling  many  disagreeable  thoughts 
and  awakening  many  profitable  reflections.  The  next  morn- 
17 


194  THE    BARCLAYS 

ing  Robert  Eedmond  called  on  Mr.  Barclay,  and  told  him 
in  a  straight-forward  manner,  that  having  learned  he  had 
no  objection  to  speak  upon  the  melancholy  event  which  had 
occurred  in  his  family,  he  had  come  to  otfer  his  services  in 
endeavoring  to  discover  the  wretch  who  had  destroyed,  in 
such  a  mysterious  manner,  its  peace  and  well-being. 

Mr.  Barclay  answered  him  kindly,  even  affectionately, 
and  declared  himself  to  be  greatly  obliged  to  him,  and  most 
willing  to  accept  his  proffered  services  in  the  dire  extremity 
to  which  he  was  reduced.  Robert  Redmond  then  inquired 
about  Miss  Barclay's  state  of  health,  and  her  father  informed 
him  that  she  still  laid  in  a  state  of  partial  insensibility,  and 
that  he  entertained  strong  doubts  of  lier  survival  of  the 
shock  she  had  endured.  This  sad  communication  complete- 
ly unnerved  the  young  lover,  and  he  found  it  impossible  to 
repress  his  sensibility,  and,  seating  himself,  remained  some 
time  quite  overcome. 

Mr.  Barclay  was  much  affected  by  this  demonstration  of 
feeling,  and  spoke  openly  to  him  of  his  own  sufferings,  and 
expressed  his  gratitude  for  the  sympathy  exhibited  towards 
his  child. 

'  Alas  !  my  dear  Sir,'  said  Robert,  '  I  have  so  long  loved 
your  daughter,  that  I  now  find  much  difficulty  in  remem- 
bering the  commencement  of  my  interest  in  her.  Imagine 
then,  I  pray,  my  distress  when  all  my  long-cherished 
hopes  are  blasted,  and  in  such  a  cruel  manner.  I  could 
submit  with  some  degree  of  patience  to  this  infliction,  if  I 
could  be  assured  of  Miss  Barclay's  happiness  ;  but  when  I 
reflect  upon  the  indignity  offered  to  you  and  yours,  my  blood 
actually  boils  with  resentment  and  anger.' 

'  We  are  in  the  hands  of  the  Lord,  my  young  friend,' 
said  Mr.  Barclay,  '  and  whatsoever  he  chooses  to  inflict  we 
must  bear  with  submission.' 

'  Allow  me  to  say,  Sir,'  said  Robert,  '  that  the  whole  com- 
munity sympathizes  with  you.  My  mother's  heart  bleeds 
for  Mrs.  Barclay  ;  indeed,  she  is  aroused  in  a  most  remark- 


OF    BOSTON.  195 

able  way.'  He  then  sorrowfully  and  respectfully  with- 
drew. 

Robert  Redmond  returned  to  his  mother,  and  communi- 
cated to  her  the  state  of  Mr.  Barclay's  family,  and  she 
instantly  wrote  a  note,  overflowing  with  gratitude  to  Mrs. 
Barclay,  for  her  devotion  in  her  own  child's  extremity,  and 
begged  to  be  allowed  to  make  some  slight  return.  She 
offered  to  watch  day  and  night,  and  declared  she  should 
never  be  satisfied  until  she  was  employed  in  her  behalf. 
Mrs.  Barclay  sent  Kate  with  a  kind  message  of  thanks  that 
Mrs.  Redmond's  proffers  of  aid  would  be  gratefully  accept- 
ed when  needed,  but  that,  at  present,  they  were  overwhelmed 
with  like  requests. 

The  reaction  had  been  very  powerful  in  Mrs.  Redmond's 
views  of  her  opposite  neighbors ;  she  watched  their  house 
still,  devoting  all  the  time  she  could  possibly  spare  from  her 
novel  reading,  but,  happily,  not  with  the  same  carping  and 
critical  spirit.  Indeed,  it  is  extremely  doubtful  if  the  lady 
would  have  overlooked  them  at  all,  had  not  her  lounging- 
chair  been  placed  near  the  window.  Where  there  really 
exists  a  good  heart,  however  overgrown  it  may  have  become 
with  rank  weeds,  let  but  one  ray  of  sunshine  enter,  and 
another  invariably  follows.  Mrs.  Redmond  was  actually 
enjoying  the  effects  of  such  a  felicitous  event. 

Robert  Redmond  wandered  about  the  town  despairingly  ; 
he  could  fix  upon  no  occupation  ;  his  mind  was  a  chaos  of 
contending  emotions.  He  now  comprehended  that  all  hope 
for  him  had  fled,  and  bitterly  lamented  he  had  not  essayed 
more  openly  to  win  Miss  Barclay's  affections.  The  truth 
was  that  he,  in  his  humility,  although  much  older  than  the 
young  girl,  had  considered  himself  so  immeasurably  beneath 
her,  that  he  had  never  ventured  to  address  her  but  with  the 
commonest  courtesies  of  eveiy-day  life.  Then  Jane  was 
so  disagreeable,  that  their  home  had  few  attractions  for  very 
young  people,  and  Mary,  though  pleasing,  was  too  juvenile 
for  any  members  of  the  family,  except  Kate. 


196  THE    BARCLAYS 

Mary  Redmond  was  a  very  good  little  girl,  and,  as  it 
sometimes  occurs  in  such  disorganized  domestic  elements, 
she  stood  forth  quite  prominently  in  this  discordant  family  ; 
more,  perhaps,  by  force  of  contrast  than  otherwise. 

The  good  example  of  the  Barclays  had  a  great  share  in 
coloring  Mary's  existence,  and  her  brother's  also,  and  their 
beneficent  influence  became  every  day  more  visible.  Rob- 
ert Redmond  revolved  over  perpetually  in  his  mind  who 
the  wretch  could  be,  who  had  so  essentially  destroyed  the 
happiness  of  the  family  he  so  dearly  loved.  He  could  not 
remember  to  have  ever  seen  Georgiana  Barclay  with  any  one 
with  whom  he  was  unacquainted,  but  once.  In  vain,  did  he 
try  to  recall  the  features  of  this  individual.  He  recollected 
thinking,  at  the  time,  he  was  a  stranger,  but,  as  his  friends 
were  always  receiving  foreigners,  he  paid  no  attention  to  the 
circumstance. 

In  all  his  reflections,  and  amidst  this  maze  of  conjectures 
to  which  there  existed  no  clue,  never  did  he,  for  a  moment, 
blame  Georgiana  ;  she  remained  in  his  eyes,  as  ever,  fault- 
less, nor  would  he  permit  any  one  else  to  blame  her. 
Fiercely  resenting  any  criticisms  on  her  conduct,  he  was 
ever  ready  to  do  battle  with  any  one  in  her  defence  ; 
and  no  true  and  loyal  knight  of  old  ever  held  his  ladye-love 
in  deeper,  higher,  holier  consideration  than  the  sorrowing 
youth,  who,  from  morning  till  night,  fretted  out  his  days  in 
repining  for  the  treasure  he  had  lost.  Robert's  love  seemed 
rooted  all  the  more  deeply  in  his  heart  that  he  had  never 
revealed  it,  and  to  this  conclusion  had  it  come  at  last, 'that 
it  was  the  absorbing  interest  of  his  life.  No  other  woman, 
he  repeatedly  avowed,  should  ever  occupy  Georgy's  place 
in  his  affections. 

Mrs.  Redmond,  becoming  extremely  absorbed  in  the  af- 
flictions of  her  friends,  her  son  beheld,  to  his  immense 
satisfaction,  the  disappearance  of  the  tawdry  looking  vol- 
umes he  so  much  disliked,  and  perceived  his  mother  had 
substituted  for  them  some  embroidery-.     This   he  consider- 


OF    BOSTON.  197 

ed  a  salutary  change,  for  he  entertained  an  unmitigated 
disgust  for  the  would-be  fashionable  gentry  she  patronized  ; 
not  even  to  mention  the  bandits,  brigands,  and  robbers, 
whom  she  liked  better  still.  This  change,  however,  only 
lasted  during  the  beginning  of  her  excitement;  she  soon 
returned  to  her  old  friends  with  renewed  vigor.  Robert 
Redmond  suddenly  found  himself,  to  his  astonishment,  lean- 
ing on  his  mother,  —  the  slight  and  frail  reed  that  mother 
had  ever  seemed  to  be  to  him  !  And  now  she  was  all  the 
world.  Weak,  indolent  and  frivolous  as  she  was,  Mrs.  Red- 
mond's sensibility  awoke  after  her  own  fashion,  at  the  call 
for  sympathy  from  a  son  whom  she  had  loved,  but  was  too 
inert  to  make  any  decided  demonstration,  and  she  responded 
to  the  appeal  warmly  and  devotedly. 

And  thus  it  is,  man  may  wander  about,  seeking  for  coun- 
sel and  support  in  other  quarters,  but  he  returns  to  his 
mother  at  last.  Surely,  Robert  Redmond's  parent  would 
have  seemed  to  be  lamentably  deficient  in  all  the  requisites 
for  grand  emergencies ;  but  maternal  love  had  lighted  a 
lamp  in  her  heart,  if  it  had  failed  to  do  so  in  her  brain,  and 
she  seemed  to  him  a  very  tower  of  strength.  And  indeed 
she  was ;  she  comforted,  soothed,  deplored  and  caressed, 
and  truly  did  just  as  well  for  him,  under  the  circumstances, 
as  if  she  had  been  the  wisest  woman  in  all  Christendom. 

Robert  discovered  that,  at  the  very  moment  he  lost  his 
mistress,  he  had  found  his  mother  ;  that  she  was  an  equiva- 
lent might  be  questioned,  but  she  contrived  to  dispel,  by  her 
tender  attentions,  a  vast  deal  of  gloom  and  despondency 
which  prevailed  in  the  heart  of  her  son ;  and,  this  being  the 
case,  it  was  of  small  import  if  Mrs.  Redmond  were  silly  or 
wise.  And  then  how  that  mother  rejoiced  with  her  son 
at  the  glad  tidings  of  Georgiana  Barclay's  restoration  to 
health  ! 


17* 


198  THE    BARCLAYS 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

*  Some  falls  are  the  means  the  happier  to  rise.' 

Shakspeare. 

And  Georgiana  Barclay  arose  from  her  bed  of  pain  and 
suffering,  pale,  wan  and  exhausted.  The  lily  of  the  valley 
was  not  more  colorless  than  her  delicate  cheek,  nor  more 
disposed  to  hide  itself  from  human  ken  than  was  this  crushed 
flower,  swept  to  the  ground  by  merciless  blasts.  Rude  winds 
had  visited  the  blue-veined  brow,  over  which  rich  masses  of 
golden  curls  flowed  in  graceful  beauty,  but  the  eyes  that, 
heretofore,  had  beamed  on  all  so  lustrously,  were  dimmed  : 
their  downcast  lids  seemed  doomed  ne'er  to  rise  again  ;  their 
light  was  quenched  indeed.  A  creature,  shipwrecked  on  the 
sanded  shores  of  life,  ere  that  young  life  began,  was  this 
sweet  bud  of  promise  ;  she  had  loved,  hoped,  trusted,  and, 
alas  !  all  too  early,  had  won  the  guerdon  of  woman's  destiny  ; 
and  she  was  to  bear  her  cross  through  her  appointed  days 
courageously,  fearlessly,  or  perish.  The  future  on  earth 
was  dark  and  sombre.  A  blight  was  upon  her  fair  fame, 
never  to  be  effaced  ;  with  this  heart-rending  conviction  she 
beheld  the  sun  rise  and  set ;  her  nights  were  passed  in  tears. 

A  weight  of  woe  was  upon  her  almost  too  heavy  for 
human  strength  to  cope  with,  but  she  was  young,  and  youth 
can  never  be  entirely  divested  of  hope  ;  a  portion  of  this 
blessing  will  ever  cling  to  early  days,  even  under  the  most 
adverse  fortunes.  Women  of  maturer  years,  as  it  has  been 
demonstrated  in  many  cases,  sink  under  even  the  slightest, 
faintest  breath  of  scandal  affecting  their  honor  ;  they  under- 
stand all  the  concomitant  wretchedness  and  misery  attendant 


OF    BOSTOiX.  199 

upon  it ;  they  full  well  know  that,  like  the  Venetian  mirror 
of  old,  it  must  not  be  approached, — and  they  sink.  It  is 
a  wise  dispensation  of  Providence  that  the  spring-tide  of 
existence  is  buoyant  and  hopeful,  —  'Hope  on,  hope  ever,' 
its  motto.  Life  is  made  up  of  contrarieties  which  admit  of 
no  explanation ;  and  that  woman,  redolent  of  benevolent 
and  tender  sensibility,  should  have  no  charity  for  the  frailty 
of  her  own  sex,  is  the  most  extraordinary  of  all ;  but  so  it 
is  and  has  ever  been.  And,  even  more,  she  gives  no 
quarter,  —  she  allows  no  extenuating  circumstances  to  change 
the  fiat  of  her  cold  decision  ;  the  nearest  approach  to  mercy 
she  can  reach  is  not  to  believe  in  the  existence  of  guilt,  is 
not  to  listen  to  the  sad  tale  of  its  misery  and  despair.  No 
sterner  Daniel  come  to  judgment,  than  is  woman  to  woman. 
Of  all  this  a  girl  of  seventeen  is  fortunately  ignorant,  and 
however  she  may  deplore  in  bitter  tears  of  contrition  and 
repentance  the  course  of  events  which  have  covered  her 
with  a  shroud  of  suspicious  gloom,  she  knows  not  the  deep 
profound  of  her  misfortune,  its  appalling  and  enduring 
quality,  its  tenacious  and  abiding  nature.  For  the  possession 
of  the  rich  sources  of  wealth,  locked  up  in  the  ardent  and 
devoted  affection  of  her  parents  and  family,  Georgiana 
Barclay  poured  forth  her  whole  soul  in  thanks  to  her  Creator  ; 
she  had  been  saved  from  entering  the  dark  valley  of  death, 
and  she  resolved  that  the  rest  of  her  days  should  be  given 
entirely  to  them,  and  them  only.  Should  the  husband  who 
had  so  treacherously  won  her  hand,  re-appear,  she  would 
never  again  behold  him ;  she  considered  herself  perfectly 
justified  in  adopting  this  course  and  adhering  to  it.  In  fact, 
she  had  conceived  an  irrepressible  disgust  with  every  thing 
appertaining  to  the  recreant  to  truth  and  honor,  who  had  so 
wickedly  misled  her  youthful  imagination,  and  lured  her 
away  from  her  allegiance  to  her  parents  and  friends  ;  the 
sight  of  him  would  have  been  hateful  to  her.  The  more  she 
reflected  upon  her  own  misconduct,  the  more  rigorously  she 
blamed  herself,  and  the  more  odious  she  became  ia  her  own 


200  THE    BARCLAYS 

eyes.  She  believed  that  no  sacrifice  she  could  ever  make 
would  suffice  to  atone  for  the  load  of  misery  she  had 
brought  upon  all  she  held  most  dear  in  the  world.  She 
thought  no  penance  which  she  could  perform,  no  sacrifice 
she  could  make,  would  be  any  atonement  for  the  grief  and 
even  shame  she  had  brought  down  upon  the  head  of  her 
revered  father ;  and  for  the  mother  who  had  untiringly  and 
perseveringly  watched  over  her  day  and  night  through 
wearisome  months,  she  dared  hardly  to  raise  her  eyes  in 
her  presence.  A  tender  conscience  had  Georgiana  Barclay, 
an  excellent  thing  in  man  or  woman.  It  was  Mr.  Barclay's 
desire  that  his  daughter  should,  on  her  convalescence,  re- 
appear in  her  own  little  world,  as  if  nothing  had  occurred  to 
disturb  the  even  current  of  her  young  days ;  and  this  wish 
being  communicated  to  her  in  writing,  (for  he  could  not  trust 
himself  to  speak,)  Georgiana  registered  a  solemn  vow  that 
all  its  requirements  should  be  fulfilled,  let  the  cost  to  herself 
be  what  it  might.  And  dreadful  was  the  conflict  of  her 
agonized  feelings  when  the  evening  arrived  wherein  she  was 
again  to  rejoin  the  circle  once  to  her  so  genial,  so  fascinating 
and  endearing.  It  came  all  too  soon  :  she  had  counted  the 
days,  and,  as  they  swiftly  departed,  she  had  bitterly  mourn- 
ed their  absence,  and  would  gladly  have  availed  herself  of 
any  plausible  excuse  to  evade  the  dreaded  moment  when  she 
should  again  behold  the  assembled  group.  Alas  !  what  a 
mighty  change  had  come  over  the  spirit  of  her  dream  of 
life  since  the  last  time  she  had  stood  amidst  her  family  and 
friends !  Then,  though  she  was  threatened  with  the  storm 
which  had  now  broken  over  her  devoted  head,  yet  she  had 
seen  it  only  in  perspective,  and  had  never  until  now  fully 
comprehended  its  magnitude  and  its  fearfully  momentous 
consequences.  So  thought  this  young  creature,  but  little 
she  recked,  comparatively,  what  these  consequences  were  to 
be,  '  A  blindness  to  the  future  kindly  given.'  At  any  rate, 
she  nerved  herself  to  the  task,  and  found  herself  once  more 
restored  to  the  apparently  unchanged  communion  with  her 


OF    BOSTON.  201 

tried  and  faithful  friends ;  but  she  felt  there  had  been  a 
change.  There  was  a  shade  more  of  tenderness  in  their 
greeting,  and  a  deeper  intonation  in  their  pleasant  voices, 
which  fell  upon  her  ear  gratefully  yet  sadly. 

Miss  Edgeworth  has  a  heroine  who  would  have  submitted 
to  any  other  infliction  than  pity  as  a  punishment  for  her 
short-comings  ;  and  true  it  is,  that  this  quality  is  often  mixed 
up  with  worldly  feelings,  which  engender  disturbing  doubts  of 
its  native  purity.  Not  that  any  thing  so  base  had  entered 
the  charmed  circle  of  which  Georgy  found  herself  the 
centre  ;  but  she  was,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  a  victim  to 
suspicious  doubts,  and  so  henceforth  seemed  doomed  to 
remain.  Indeed,  from  the  peculiarity  of  her  situation  how 
could  this  be  otherwise  ?  and  suspicion  was  already  added  to 
the  weight  of  the  burthen  which  her  overladen  spirit  was  to 
bear. 

Uncle  Richard  '  for  this  evening  only,'  forgot  to  grumble, 
and  contradicted  Mrs.  Ashley  but  once,  that  pleasant  lady 
being  all  smiles  and  gaiety  as  usual.  Mrs.  Gordon  was  in 
her  most  entertaining  mood,  and  her  daughter,  wild  with  joy 
and  excitement,  never  took  her  eyes  from  the  beautiful 
picture  of  her  restored  friend.  Kate  literally  danced  for  joy ; 
and  Gracy  declaring  that,  if  she  would  tread  a  measure,  she 
must  have  music,  played  a  waltz ;  and  the  volatile  creature 
twirled  round  poor  Johnny  until  he  fell  flat  on  the  floor  from 
dizziness  and  exhaustion,  not  being  accustomed  to  such 
saltatory  movements,  and  moreover  a  tyro  in  the  act  of 
dancing. 

Quiet,  after  strenuous  efforts,  being  restored,  and  all  be- 
ginning to  be  soberly  happy,  several  other  persons  arrived 
with  congratulations  at  the  re-appearance  of  the  invalid  ; 
amongst  these  were  Gerald  Sanderson,  Miss  Tidmarsh,  and 
two  or  three  foreigners  of  distinction  who  had  been  recently 
presented  to  Mr.  Barclay. 

Gerald,  entirely  overcome  by  the  intensity  of  his  feelings, 
stammered  forth  his  sincere  satisfaction  at  once  more  being 


202  THE    BARCLAYS 

allowed  to  see  Miss  Barclay,  and  then  retreated  to  the  con- 
servatory; remaining  there  a  few  minutes,  he  returned,  and 
seating  himself  in  a  distant  part  of  the  library  fed  his  eyes 
upon  the  object  of  his  idolatry.  Miss  Serena  devoted  her- 
self, after  having  paid  sundry  insincere  compliments  to 
Georgy,  to  a  young  Frenchman,  and  invited  him  to  accom- 
pany her  to  one  of  the  tables,  where  she  entertained  him  in 
her  patchwork  French  with  all  the  scandal  she  had  managed 
to  collect  during  the  week. 

Now  Johnny  Barclay  happened  to  be  drawing  at  this 
table,  and  this  youth  was  a  naturalist ;  an  incipient  one  to  be 
sure,  for  his  researches  were  entirely  confined  to  the  feline 
species.  And  woe  unto  the  unfortunates  !  their  tribulations,  as 
far  as  he  was  concerned,  being  legion  ;  in  fact,  he  never 
allowed  a  cat  to  enjoy  her  existence  any  length  of  time  in 
his  latitudes,  and  waged  against  that  amiable  race  an  exter- 
minating warfare.  Many  old  women  in  the  neighborhood 
had  almost  determined  to  enter  a  protest  against  Johnny's 
murderous  propensities,  having  missed  their  favorites  and  pets 
from  their  accustomed  haunts,  and  had  only  been  deterred 
by  their  respect  for  his  father,  whom  they  could  not  bear  to 
disturb  with  complaints.  It  so  happened  that  Johnny  asked 
Miss  Serena  some  question  touching  a  foreign  city  of  which 
she  and  her  companion  were  speaking,  and  Miss  Tidmarsh, 
being  ignorant  and  not  wishing  to  proclaim  her  want  of 
knowledge,  pretended  not  to  hear  him.  Upon  which  Johnny, 
raising  his  voice  above  all  drawing-room  conventional 
regulations,  reiterated  his  demand.  The  lady  answered  in 
her  lowest  whisper,  and  the  turbulent  child,  roaring  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  at  the  end  of  the  street,  bawled 
out  '  Why  don't  you  speak  as  loud  as  other  people,  ^liss 
Serena  ?  you  can  ;  it's  only  before  company  you're  such  a 
mouse  in  a  cheese.  I  heard  you  this  morning  when  we  boys 
chased  a  glorious  tom-cat  up  your  pear-tree,  and  poor  dirty 
little  lame  Sally  only  came  to  the  door  to  see  the  fun,  —  I 
heard  you  bellow  and  use  awful  naughty  words  besides  ! '    No 


OF    BOSTON.  203 

one  knew  what  to  do  or  to  say  upon  this  explosion  ;  nobody- 
could  pretend  to  deafness  —  all  the  assembled  company 
having  been  stopped  short  in  their  colloquies  by  the  uproar. 

Mr.  Barclay  immediately  ordered  his  son  and  heir  to 
bed,  —  the  boy's  most  condign  punishment,  —  and  Miss  Tid- 
marsh  really  did,  for  that  time,  take  French  leave,  having 
precipitately  left  the  room  as  Johnny  finished  his  peroration. 
Johnny  retreated  to  that  refuge  of  the  destitute  and  dis- 
tressed, Nursey  Bristow's  quarters,  and  there  it  is  lamentable 
to  state,  (but  the  truth  must  be  told,)  he  recounted  his  exploit 
without  evincing  a  single  demonstration  of  repentance  ;  but 
wickedly  avowed  his  satisfaction  therein,  and  his  fixed 
resolve  to  do  the  same  thing  again  whenever  he  got  a  good 
chance.  Nursey,  shaking  her  head  and  combing  his,  be- 
wailed his  naughtinesses  in  melting  terms,  which  produced  no 
effect  whatever  upon  the  little  sinner. 

Uncle  Richard  behaved  no  better  than  his  hopeful  nephew, 
for  perceiving  the  absence  of  Miss  Tidmarsh,  he  burst  out 
into  the  most  uncontrollable  fit  of  laughter,  in  which  he  was 
joined  bv  all  the  assembled  company,  except  the  heads  of 
the  house,  who,  it  must  be  confessed,  had  much  difficulty  in 
restraining  their  mirth.  Even  Gerald,  who  had  so  long 
thought  he  should  never  smile  again,  was  fairly  overcome, 
and  betrayed  his  mirth  in  no  measured  terms.  Mr.  Richard's 
second  pet  dislike  being  Miss  Serena,  (he  never  renounced 
his  first)  he  was  highly  pleased  that  her  deceit  had 
been  thoroughly  exposed  ;  he  having  always  regarded  the 
delicacy  of  her  lungs,  of  which  she  was  perpetually  com- 
plaining, as  a  complete  myth  with  which  that  young  lady 
favored  the  public.  And  now,'  exclaimed  he  rejoicingly, 
'  we  shall  hear  no  more  of  the  ridiculous  creature's  pre- 
tensions to  morbid  affections  of  the  chest.'  But  he  was 
mistaken,  —  her  bad  habits  were  as  deeply  rooted  as  his 
own.  and  she  was  sure,  in  a  few  days,  to  forget  the  young 
scapegrace's  rebuff,  and  be  more  absurd  than  ever. 

Georgiana,  though  not  very  strong,  had  crept  out  after 


204  THE    BARCLAYS 

Miss  Tidmarsh,  whom  she  hoped  to  find  in  the  hall ;  but  the 
delicate  pretender  had  vanished,  having  totally  forgotten  her 
hooded  cloak  which  remained  pendent  on  the  hat-stand,  and 
singularly  resembled  its  owner.  Mr,  Barclay  privately 
informed  his  wife  that  he  proposed  punishing  Johnny,  and 
only  hoped  he  should  perform  the  operation  without  laughing, 
Mrs.  Barclay  replied  that  she  wished  he  might  avoid  such  a 
catastrophe,  but  had  her  own  doubts  whether  the  offender 
would  not  coax  his  father  out  of  all  such  retributive  justice. 
Mr,  Barclay  was  altogether  too  indulgent  to  his  children;  his 
wife  made  strenuous  efforts  to  counteract  the  pernicious 
effects  of  such  a  course,  and  the  consequence  was,  that  they 
ever  held  her  in  much  greater  awe  than  their  father.  He 
could  not  behold,  in  any  degree  of  peace,  a  frown  on  the 
brow  of  a  child  ;  he  must  immediately  chase  it  away ;  he 
frankly  acknowledged  his  weakness,  and  declared  that  he 
left  all  the  wholesome  disciplining  of  his  family  to  his 
wife.  In  this  respect  he  very  much  resembled  all  indiscreet- 
ly fond  fathers,  in  which  America  abounds. 


OF    BOSTON. 


205 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


*  A  rieh  man  may  have  carved  by  the  mere  success  of  his  enterprises 
a  right  to  be  heard,  having  been  tested  by  that  success.'  Axon. 

Mr.  Barclay,  after  many  interviews  with  Gerald  San- 
derson, became  extremely  interested  in  that  young  man's 
fortunes,  and  firmly  resolved  to  do  him  some  solid  service. 
Gerald,  captivated  by  the  sympathetic  nature  of  his  newly 
acquired  friend,  felt  that  he  almost  haunted  his  footsteps, 
and  yet  could  not  persuade  himself  to  renounce  the  happi- 
ness it  imparted.  Gerald  unveiled  to  Mr.  Barclay  all  the 
most  secret  recesses  of  his  heart ;  his  abandoned  dream-land 
and  visionary  projects ;  and  communicated  his  earnest  de- 
sire to  effect  a  complete  metamorphosis  in  his  habits,  and 
to  school  himself  severely  in  the  busy  marts  of  men  ;  his 
plan  being  one  he  had  long  revolved  in  his  mind,  —  to  enter 
himself  at  the  law  school  at  Cambridge,  where  he  thought  a 
year  would  suffice,  as  he  had  already  studied  three  at  home, 
and  then  find  a  place  in  some  distinguished  lawyer's  office 
in  Boston.  All  this  was  judiciously  arranged,  but  the  means 
whereby  this  project  could  be  carried  through  were  wanting, 
his  small  modicum  being  entirely  inadequate  to  the  disbursal 
of  his  daily  expenses.  He  had  been  told  of  the  hope 
deferred,  and  the  sickened  and  fainting  hearts  of  aspirants 
for  legal  fame  ;  but  nothing  dismayed,  he  determined  to 
pursue  his  course,  and  try  to  find  some  occupation  which 
would  give  him  bread  while  pursuing  his  studies.  These 
sad  reflections  cost  him  many  hours  of  serious  thought,  and 
were  the  only  subjects  of  his  matured  plans  which  he  failed 
18 


206  THE    BARCLAYS 

to  reveal  to  Mr.  Barclay ;  for,  had  he  not  assisted  his 
brother  ?  There  then  seemed  to  be  no  one  to  whom  Gerald 
could  apply,  for,  in  the  days  of  his  most  amicable  relations 
with  his  uncle,  he  would  never  have  ventured  upon  any 
proposition  for  aid,  and  in  their  disseverment  it  was  entirely 
out  of  the  question.  So,  poor  Gerald  pined  away  his  days 
in  repentance  of  his  past  follies,  and  beheld  his  plans  for 
improvement  passing  away  from  lack  of  power  to  execute 
them,  and  he  actually  seemed  in  danger,  notwithstanding 
all  his  good  resolutions,  of  fast  falling  into  his  old  and  per- 
nicious habits  of  castle-building  and  melancholy  reverie. 
From  this  state  he  was  most  opportunely  and  joyfully 
aroused  by  a  note  from  a  gentleman,  whom  he  only  knew 
by  reputation,  requesting  him  to  call  at  his  office  the  next 
day  at  twelve  o'clock.  Little  slept  he  that  night,  and  arising 
at  break  of  day,  he  thought  the  long,  long  hours  would 
never  come  to  an  end  ;  but  at  last  he  beheld  the  desired 
meridian,  and  found  himself  precisely  at  the  appointed  time 
in  the  presence  of  a  large,  red-faced,  burly  individual,  who, 
greeting  him  freely  and  heartily,  desired  him  to  be  seated, 
and  then  entered  upon  business  immediately,  by  saying  :  '  A 
mutual  friend  of  yours  and  mine,  Mr.  Sanderson,  has  often 
spoken  to  me  of  you,  and  thinks  you  are  exactly  the  person 
I  want.  He  says  you  are  the  soul  of  honor  and  probity, 
and  that  implicit  reliance  can  be  placed  on  you  ;  that  you 
are  a  good  French  scholar,  and  will  be  able  to  conduct 
satisfactorily  a  commercial  correspondence  in  that  language, 
respecting  some  business  which  demands  profound  secrecy. 
Don't  be  alarmed,  there  is  nothing  wrong  about  it ;  but  I 
have  discovered  a  way  to  make  a  round  sum  of  money,  and 
am  determined  to  keep  close  and  have  all  the  cakes  and  ale 
for  myself  and  children.  Now,  if  you  will  undertake  this 
affair  for  me,  and  I  understand,  in  the  end,  that  you  have 
not  breathed  a  syllable  to  any  one  respecting  it,  I  will  give 
you  a  thousand  dollars  a  year,  and  should  the  enterprise 
prove  successful,  you  shall  have  a  bonus  besides.'     It  need 


OF    BOSTON.  207 

hardly  be  doubted  that  Gerald  gladly  accepted  this  propo- 
sition, the  more  so  when  he  discovered  that  the  work  might 
be  executed  in  three  days  of  each  week.  When  Mr.  Barton, 
that  being  the  name  of  the  gentleman,  informed  Gerald  of 
this  fact,  he  declared  he  thought  the  remuneration  altogether 
too  large  for  the  services  to  be  rendered ;  but  the  merchant 
answered  that  he  was  paying  for  character  and  not  work, 
and  persisted  in  his  offer.  Gerald  inquired  who  the  person  was 
who  had  kindly  interested  himself  in  his  welfare,  and  heard, 
without  surprise,  Mr.  Barclay's  name  mentioned,  —  for  what 
other  friend  had  he  in  the  world  ?  Mr.  Barton  was  a  tolera- 
bly liberal  man,  and  was  very  willing  to  pay  for  specified 
moralities,  (he  wanted  them,)  but  not  exactly  a  thousand 
dollars  a  year.  He  thought  six  hundred  ample,  and  Mr. 
Barclay  supplied  the  deficiency  under  the  seal  of  secrecy. 

Gerald  Sanderson  entered  that  very  morning  on  his  func- 
tions, and  his  employer  seemed  well  satisfied  with  the  zeal 
and  intelligence  he  evinced.  Mr.  Barton  perceived  that  he 
comprehended  at  a  glance  the  important  bearings  of  the 
business,  and  applied  himself  assiduously  to  unravelling  all 
its  intricate  parts.  They  passed  many  hours  together,  and 
parted  mutually  pleased  with  each  other,  Gerald  being  con- 
vinced that  he  could  give  satisfaction  to  his  employer.  That 
evening  Gerald  consecrated  to  his  mother,  and  a  blessed  one 
it  was.  She  was  made  happy  in  the  certainty  of  her  son's 
independence  and  his  ability  to  pursue  his  legal  studies,  she 
having  always  earnestly  desired  he  should  adopt  his  father's 
protession.  She  also  thought  that  this  training  under  a 
thorough  business  man,  like  Mr.  Barton,  whom  she  knew 
to  be  an  able  financier,  would  be  of  immense  service  to 
the  young  dreamer.  Mrs.  Sanderson  had  always  thought 
if  Gerald  could  be  once  aroused  and  completely  disenchanted 
of  his  illusions,  he  would  never  again  relapse,  for  she  knew 
there  was  a  fund  of  practical  good  sense  lying  unrevealed 
under  his  dreamy  qualities.  What  would  the  delighted  mother 
have  given  to  be  able,  on  the  instant,  to  impart  this  agreeable 


208 


THE    BARCLAYS 


intelligence  to  her  brother?  but  he  was  immured  in  his  library, 
with  never  a  book,  and  no  one  could  put  foot  therein  unless 
formally  requested  to  do  so.  Now,  instead  of  pouring  forth 
her  excited  and  overjoyed  feelings  in  fraternal  intercourse, 
she  called  up  the  two  sable  friends  she  possessed  in  the 
kitchen,  and  told  them  the  pleasant  tale  of  their  young 
mastei''s  prosperity  ;  to  which  Gerald  added  a  bank  note 
a-piece,  the  first  he  had  ever  had  the  happiness  to  be  able 
to  bestow  upon  them.  The  pair,  when  they  did  not  laugh, 
always  cried  on  grand  occasions ;  that  evening  they  cele- 
brated by  doing  both ;  and  Peter,  after  descending  into  his 
own  domains,  gave  a  slight  touch  or  so  of  heel  and  toe, 
and  declared  that  next  to  the  return  home  of  Massa  Charley, 
this  was  the  very  best  bit  of  news  ho  could  ever  hear. 

The  next  morning  Gerald  Sanderson  called  on  Mr.  Barclay 
before  breakfast,  and  attempted  to  thank  him  for  his  unex- 
pected kindness;  but,  in  his  own  estimation,  signally  failed, 
so  greatly  was  he  overpowered  by  his  grateful  feelings. 
He,  however,  managed  to  invoke  the  blessing  of  the  father- 
less upon  his  head,  and,  as  the  Italians  say,  blessings  never 
fall  to  the  ground,  they  must  have  rested  there.  Mr.  Barclay 
requested  Gerald  to  remain  and  breakfast  with  him,  and 
soon  his  lovely  family  was  assembled  together  in  the  library, 
the  servants  following.  Mr.  Barclay  read  impressively  a 
short  household  service,  and  concluded  with  a  fervent  prayer 
for  their  welfare.  This  finished,  the  greetings  of  the  day 
commenced  affectionately,  and  they  then  repaired  to  the 
dining-room,  where,  around  a  cheerful  board,  graced  by 
youth  and  beauty,  the  heads  of  this  home  looked  as  if 
sorrow  and  suffering  might  not  enter  there  ;  and  yet,  alas ! 
it  had. 

Gerald  walked  to  Cambridge  three  times  a  week  to  the 
law  school,  and  the  rest  of  his  time  was  devoted  to  Mr. 
Barton,  that  gentleman,  however,  not  requiring  his  presence 
in  the  evening,  he  was  a  free  man ;  but  not  once,  in  the 
whole  course  of  that  year,  did  he  open  a  book  disconnected 


OF    BOSTON.  209, 

with  his  legal  pursuits.  When  wearied  with  hard  work  and 
study,  he  frequented  the  concerts  and  theatres,  and  kept  up 
by  practice  his  own  fine  voice,  and  accompanied  himself  on 
his  guitar,  and  went  to  Mr.  Barclay's  as  often  as  he  dared. 
Mrs.  Barclay's  hospitality  was  unbounded  to  him.  With 
a  woman's  keen  susceptibility  to  love-passages,  she  had 
instantly  perceived  the  state  of  his  feelings,  but  she  thought 
he  would  eventually  conquer  his  passion  for  her  daughter, 
in  view  of  its  utter  hopelessness  ;  she  felt  his  solitariness 
and  the  great  advantage  he  would  derive  from  his  com- 
munion with  her  family,  and  so  she  welcomed  him  warmly 
to  their  fireside. 

Mr.  Barton  having  begun  to  take  a  decided  likino;  to  his 
diligent  amanuensis,  one  day  invited  him  home  to  dinner, 
in  order,  as  he  declared,  to  make  Mrs.  Barton  and  his 
daughters  acquainted  with  him.  Gerald  accepting  the  invi- 
tation, accompanied  his  patron,  and  found  himself  in  an 
elegant  house,  furnished  in  shockingly  bad  taste,  glaring 
and  flashy  ;  in  very  truth,  his  eyes  were  almost  blinded  by 
the  variety  of  ill-assorted  colors,  which  met  them  on  all 
sides. 

The  Misses  Barton,  showy  and  ambitious  girls,  were  just 
half  educated,  knowing  a  little  of  almost  every  thing;  they 
drew  a  little,  played  a  little,  and  sang  a  vast  deal,  with 
remarkably  unmusical  voices,  and  talked  immensely  of  all 
the  'ologies,  to  which  were  superadded  chemistry  and  medi- 
cine. 

Mr.  Barton,  in  describing  his  daughters  to  Gerald,  had 
mentioned  with  pride  their  vast  attainments,  and  said  that 
subjects  were  discussed  at  his  table,  and  to  all  appearance 
definitely  settled  by  these  young  ladies,  that  would  puzzle 
the  most  profound  philosophers  to  unravel.  '  But,'  said  he, 
'  I  have  paid  so  much  money  for  their  schooling,  that  I 
presume  I  am  getting  my  money's  worth,  and  the  gist  of 
the  matter  lies  there  after  all.' 

Mrs.  Barton,  a  good  housewifely  creature,  received  her 
18* 


210  THE    BARCLAYS 

guest  with  great  deference ;  the  daughters  paid  small  regard 
to  their  parents  in  any  thing,  evidently  considering  them 
quite  an  inferior  order  of  persons. 

There  was  one  thing  which  appeared  to  Gerald  Sander- 
son to  be  very  remarkable,  and  it  was,  that  the  Misses  Bar- 
ton, having  paid  such  strict  attention  to  the  acquisition  of 
various  foreign  and  dead  languages,  should  have  so  sin- 
gularly neglected  their  own  vernacular,  in  which  they  were 
sadly  deficient. 

The  dinner  was  excellent  and  well  cooked,  and  Mrs.  Bar- 
ton, to  the  undisguised  disgust  of  her  daughters,  was  quite 
willing  that  Gerald  should  comprehend  she  had  taken  a 
large  share  in  the  confection  of  certain  pastries  which  she 
strenuously  recommended  to  him.  The  servants  were  ill 
trained  and  excessively  awkward,  and  the  hostess  very  fussy 
with  them,  giving  various  orders  and  hints  quite  audibly 
enough  for  all  to  hear. 

To  his  great  astonishment  he  heard  not  one  word  of  the 
dreaded  'ologies,  the  young  ladies  being  completely  ab- 
sorbed in  obtaining  all  the  information  they  could  from 
Gerald,  respecting  the  Barclay  family,  and  he  shortly  made 
the  discovery  that  his  gracious  welcome  was  entirely  to  be 
attributed  to  his  known  intimacy  in  that  quarter. 

Now,  how  shall  it  be  written  ?  That  the  Bartons  were 
not  of  the  same  rank  as  the  Barclays,  —  no  such  word  as 
rank  in  democratic  America.  Not  of  the  same  class, — 
that  will  never  do.  Not  of  the  same  standing,  —  worse  and 
worse.  The  fact  is,  and  the  truth  must  be  told,  it  is  very 
hard,  indeed,  to  describe  certain  things  in  a  Republic. 
Were  the  Bartons  then  not  fashionable  ?  Travellers  say  we 
have  no  fashion ;  then  how  in  the  name  of  common  sense 
is  this  awkward  affair  to  be  managed  ?  Well,  then,  for 
want  of  something  better,  the  Misses  Barton  did  not  visit  in 
the  same  houses  with  the  Barclays.  Then  were  they  or  the 
Barclays  '  our  first  people  ?  '  But  this  is  getting  to  be  too 
abstract  a  question,  and  the  best  way  is  to  let  it  alone,  and, 


OF    BOSTON.  211 

moreover,  by  far  the  safest.  The  result  was,  that  the  fami- 
lies were  unknown  to  each  other ;  and  though  the  Barclays 
had  never  seen  Gerald's  friends,  it  appeared  they  had 
been  carefully  scanned  in  all  public  places,  and  particularly 
on  Sundays.  Miss  Julia  Maria  Barton  begged  to  know  if 
Grace's  hair  was  really  golden ;  and  Miss  Araminta  Cora 
Barton  asked  if  the  sister's  eyes  were  black  or  blue.  Kate 
and  Johnny  were  entirely  neglected  ;  their  fame  had  not 
penetrated  into  the  Barton  circle. 

These  questionings  and  Gerald's  answers  broke  all  the  ice 
of  ceremony,  and  a  conversation  ensued,  if  thus  it  could  be 
called,  which  was  composed  of  interrogations  and  responses, 
and  made  them  all  seem  quite  sociable.  The  young  ladies 
did  not  touch  upon  the  debatable  ground  of  poor  Georgy, 
for  there  sat  facing  them  the  principal  personage  in  the 
story ;  though  he  fancied  they  were  really  dying  to  do  so, 
but,  fortunately,  they  spared  him  such  an  infliction.  The 
visit  pleasantly  enough  ended,  he  rose  to  take  leave,  when 
they  all  entreated  him  to  return  very  soon  ;  '  the  oftener  the 
better,'  said  Mrs.  Barton.  Mr,  Barton,  who  sallied  forth 
with  him,  declared  he  had  not  enjoyed  such  an  agreeable 
meal  for  a  long  time,  never  having  heard  a  single  word 
about  that  nasty  Liebeg,  or  his  decided  aversions  the  'ologies, 
while  Gerald  was  in  his  house. 

Gerald  was  much  amused  with  this  new  phase  of  things ; 
and,  as  there  was  nothing  of  which  he  liked  to  talk  better 
than  the  Barclays,  the  sound  of  their  names  being  to  him  a 
breathing  and  subduing  melody,  he  resolved  rather  to  cul- 
tivate the  acquaintance  of  persons  who  took  such  an  intense 
interest  in  them,  no  matter  what  the  motive. 

Mr.  Barton  had  begun  life  in  a  very  small  way,  and  his 
early  career  had  been  unprosperous ;  he  had  failed  in  busi- 
ness, but,  with  the  characteristic  courage  and  energy  of  his 
'  Down-East '  race,  —  for  he  came  from  the  State  of  Maine, 
—  he,  nothing  daunted,  looked  adverse  Fortune  sternly  and 
defiantly  in  the  face,  and  dared  her  to  do  her  worst. 


212  THE    BARCLAYS 

Failures  in  other  lands  are  wearisome  and  melancholy 
enough,  there  would  seem  to  be  no  recuperative  qualities  in 
the  sufferers  ;  but  in  America  a  man  falls  but  to  rise  and 
take  a  bolder  flight.  A  few  years  soon  saw  Mr.  Barton 
re-established,  having  gathered  a  rich  harvest  of  experience 
from  his  previous  commercial  disasters,  and,  what  Avas 
greatly  to  his  honor,  having  paid  off  the  principal  and 
interest  of  his  debts.  This  time  the  fickle  goddess  contin- 
ued to  favor  him,  and  he  made  by  speculations  an  immense 
fortune  ;  and  then  he  performed  a  remarkably  wise  act,  —  he 
settled  one  half  of  his  rapidly  gained  wealth  on  his  wife 
and  children,  declaring  they  should  never  again  be  made 
beggars.  For  himself,  he  averred,  that,  as  occupation  was 
the  main-spring  of  his  existence,  and  he  should  die  of  atro- 
phy without  it,  he  must  work,  and  so  he  did  just  as  assid- 
uously as  if  his  daily  bread  depended  upon  his  exertions, 
looking  carefully  after  the  smallest  sums  in  a  very  searching 
manner.  Occasionally  he  gave  to  charities,  incited  by  Mr. 
Barclay,  who  had  great  influence  over  him  ;  but  this  was 
rather  to  behold  his  name  by  the  side  of  a  man's  whom  he 
greatly  admired  and  respected,  than  from  any  real  sym- 
pathy with  the  wants  of  others. 

Mr.  Barton  took  great  delight  in  recounting  his  early 
adventures ;  he  prided  himself  immensely  on  having  battled 
with  poverty  in  its  most  pinching  and  griping  aspect,  and  on 
liaving  conquered  the  enemy,  and  was  rather  vain  of  his 
signal  exploits.  Not  so  his  daughters;  they,  blushingly, 
interrupted  him,  and  always  endeavored  to  divert  his  atten- 
tion from  the  subject  of  his  early  days,  and  conjured  their 
mother  to  do  the  same ;  but  the  good  creature  answered 
that,  if  it  made  her  husband  happy  to  do  this,  it  was  all  she 
desired  in  the  world.  It  was  wonderful  the  efforts  were  so 
perpetually  made,  seeing  they  were  so  constantly  abortive; 
but  then  the  Misses  Barton's  father  always  began  his  graphic 
descriptions  when  they  had  their  very  best  acquaintance 
with  them.     Now,  this  may  faintly  shadow  forth  where  the 


OF    BOSTON.  213 

Bartons  were  in  society,  for  the  truly  very  best  persons  in 
the  land  would  have  listened  with  interest  and  pride  to  the 
detail  of  their  countryman's  struggles,  from  which,  it  ap- 
peared, the  young  ladies'  'upper  ten  thousand'  turned  their 
heads  in  mockery  and  disgust. 

Mr.  Barton's  baptismal  name  was  a  peculiar  one,  to  say 
the  least,  he  rejoicing  in  the  appellation  of  Nicodemus,  and 
choosing  to  have  it  emblazoned  in  black-letter  upon  his 
door-plate,  and  also  visiting  cards,  that  being  the  latest 
fashion.  It  was  in  vain  Miss  Araminta  Cora  advised  him  of 
the  pleasant  fact,  that  all  the  small  boys  in  the  neighbor- 
hood had  christened  him  '  Old  Nick,'  and  even  proceeded 
to  append  a  portrait  of  the  real  Simon  Pure,  horns  and  all, 
on  the  back-gate  of  his  dwelling.  The  father  remained 
obstinately  impervious,  and  vowed  he  would  never  forswear 
his  birthright  for  all  the  little  vagabonds  in  Christendom  ; 
and  that  they  had  brought  the  war  into  his  camp,  because 
he  had  warned  them,  with  their  confounded  balls,  off  the 
court  in  which  he  lived.  He  was  not  to  be  scared  out  of 
his  name,  a  good  family  one,  by  babies,  not  he.  So  his 
daughters  were  obliged  to  resign,  for  a  time,  all  immediate 
hope  of  a  change  in  their  father's  patronymic  ;  but  as  they 
inherited  his  never-dying  spirit  of  tenacity  of  purpose,  they 
never  despaired. 


214  THE    BARCLAYS 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


•  Somotliiiig  the  heart  must  have  to  cherish, 
Mast  love  and  joy  and  sorrow  learn, 
Something  with  passion  clasp  or  perish, 
And  in  itself  to  ashes  burn.' 

Hyperion. 

liuT  does  not  the  reader  wish  to  liear  something  of  the 
whereabouts  of  the  dear  Charley  .'  He  has  never  been 
any  where  but  in  his  bereaved  mother's  heart  and  mind, 
morning,  noon  and  night,  since  his  departure.  Gerald  has 
pined  for  his  joyous  brother  ;  Peter  and  Dinah  have  obstrep- 
erously lamented  liis  absence  ;  and  Mr.  Egerton  has  said 
never  a  word  of  the  favorite,  good  or  bad.  The  voyage  was 
long,  tedious  and  moaotonous,  for  every  one  but  Charley, 
who  was  the  life  and  soul  of  the  whole  ship's  company. 
Mrs.  Sanderson  had  given  her  son  a  Bible  and  Shakspcare  ; 
these  he  read,  the  first  solemnly  and  attentively,  the  second 
eagerly  drinking  in  its  beauties,  and,  by  turns,  enacted,  for 
the  gratification  of  his  shipmates,  almost  every  character 
in  it. 

A  great  talent  had  Charley  Sanderson  for  histrionic  ac- 
complishments, which  he  had  but  sparsely  exercised  on 
shore  ;  but  it  was  then  brought  out  for  the  amusement  of 
others,  as  time  moved  slowly  and  tediously  on  —  and  where 
does  it  lag  more  wearily  than  at  sea  r  There  was  one 
exception  to  the  general  favoritism  that  the  dear  boy  enjoy- 
ed, and  that  was  in  the  person  of  a  dark,  atribilious,  dis- 
agreeable man,  —  a  passenger  who  seemed  to  think  smiling 
an  ofience,  and  laughing  a  crime,  —  and  who  had,  from  the 


OF    BOSTON.  215 

first  moment  he  laid  his  ugly  gray  eyes  on  the  youth,  ap- 
parently hated  him.  If  Mr.  Johnstone  had  been  asked  why, 
he  could  not  have  satisfactorily  answered,  even  to  himself. 
It  was  generally  believed  by  the  lookers-on,  that  he  disliked 
to  see  such  a  joyously  happy  creature  crossing  his  own 
unhappy  path.  At  any  rate,  he  took  no  notice  of  the  '  pop- 
ular member,'  and  always  snarled  at  all  the  praises  and 
commendations  bestowed  upon  him  ;  to  this  Charley  gave 
no  heed  whatever;  he  thought  the  ship  large  enough  for 
them  both,  and  went  on  his  way  rejoicing  and  working,  for 
he  set  himself  to  learn  navigation,  and  studied  assiduously. 

Some  time  before  they  reached  Calcutta,  Mr.  Johnstone 
fell  dangerously  ill  of  a  contagious  malady,  and,  being  uni- 
versally disliked,  no  man  on  board  thought  proper  to  risk 
his  life  for  such  a  '  disagreeable  animal.'  He  would  have 
undoubtedly  suffered  from  total  neglect,  and  might  have 
died,  but  for  the  very  person  whom  he  had  flouted  and 
scorned,  Charley  Sanderson.  The  dear  boy  entered  his 
state-room,  proffering  all  the  assistance  in  his  power,  watch- 
ed over  him  day  and  night,  and  fairly  brought  him  round,  so 
that  he  recovered  his  health,  but  not  entirely  his  strength, 
before  they  landed.  Charley  himself  was  unscathed  by  his 
wearisome  exertions,  as  he  richly  deserved  to  be  ;  he  also 
won  golden  opinions  from  his  shipmates,  who,  one  and  all, 
declared  that  he  had  behaved  like  the  glorious  good  fellow 
he  was.  '  Such  benevolence  and  such  a  forgiving  spirit,' 
they  cried,  '  were  rarely  seen.'  This  sickness  unto  death 
was,  for  Mr.  Johnstone,  a  signal  mercy.  He  had  begun  his 
career  in  a  mean  and  sordid  way,  believing  in  nothing  and 
in  no  one,  and  with  an  intense  craving  for  human  sympa- 
thy, had,  by  his  morose,  unsocial  and  forbidding  manners, 
cast  away  from  him  his  fellow-men.  Without  family,  or 
connections,  he  had  wandered  to  India,  and  there,  under  its 
burning  sun,  led  a  self-concentrated  existence.  Without 
interests  or  affections,  he  had,  after  many  years,  returned  to 
America,  and  finding  no  one  to  care  for  him  in  his  native 


216  THE    BARCLAYS 

land,  he  resolved  to  retrace  his  listless  steps,  and  finish  his 
days  in  Calcutta,  since  there  was  nothing  to  live  for  at 
home.  Besides,  he  had  found  life  perfectly  intolerable  in 
Boston  and  elsewhere,  his  habits  having  been  revolutionized 
by  his  Indian  residence,  so  back  he  was  going,  when  a  pas- 
sage to  eternity  seemed  much  nearer  to  him  than  one  to 
Calcutta.  Now,  then,  was  exhibited  to  this  unbeliever  in 
humanity,  a  new  phase  in  his  previous  conceptions.  Here 
was  a  mere  lad,  whom  he  had  purposely  avoided,  for  no 
reason  on  earth,  and  for  whom  he  had  most  savagely  be- 
trayed a  sentiment  of  contempt ;  and  this  young  creature 
had  devoted  himself,  with  the  most  perseveringly  untiring 
efforts,  to  the  salvation  of  his  life  —  and  wherefore  ? 

There  was  no  wealth  to  tempt,  no  apparent  goodness  to 
seduce  ;  on  the  contrary,  surliness  and  ill-nature  ;  and  yet 
he  had  risked  even  his  own  existence  for  that  of  a  bad- 
tempered  and  disagreeable  man.  This  was  surely  a  most 
remarkable  thing,  and  gave  abundant  food  for  reflection. 
This  carrying  out  of  the  doctrines  of  our  Saviour  by  one  so 
young,  completely  humbled  and  changed  the  ill-conditioned 
character  and  temperament  of  Mr.  Johnstone  ;  from  believ- 
ing in  nothing,  human  or  divine,  he  prayed  that  he  might 
become  exactly  like  the  youth  who  had  set  him  such  a  noble 
example  of  forbearance  and  forgiveness  ;  he  would  imme- 
diately take  him  for  his  model,  and  this  he  told  Charley  ;  for 
once  the  ice-bound  barrier  dissolved  which  severed  them, 
the  restored  invalid  seemed  to  delight  in  baring  his  whole 
soul  to  his  preserver.  But  Charley  conjured  him  to  do  no 
such  thing,  to  take  no  such  frail  reed  as  himself  for  a  model, 
but  seek  and  he  should  find  in  the  inspired  volume  which 
his  mother  had  given  to  him  at  parting,  even  the  Bible,  for 
greatly  had  he  been  shocked  to  discover  that  Mr.  Johnstone 
was  not  the  possessor  of  a  solitary  prayer-book.  Certainly 
no  missionary  ever  labored  with  more  pious  ardor  and  en- 
thusiasm in  the  good  work  of  bringing  an  unbeliever  to  the 
blessed  light  of  the  gospel,  than  did  Charley  Sanderson,  and 


OF    BOSTON.  217 

his  efforts  proved  eminently  successful ;  particularly  during 
the  watches  of  the  night,  when  Mr.  Johnstone,  unable  to 
sleep,  was  extremely  impressible,  and  consequently  more 
open  to  conviction.  Charley,  imagining  that  his  newly- 
acquired  friend  was  not  prosperous,  offered  him  any  pecu- 
niary assistance  his  own  limited  means  permitted,  and 
begged  to  share  and  share  alike  when  they  reached  their 
destination.  At  last,  the  long  wished  for  land  appeared, 
and,  amidst  the  noise  and  confusion  attendant  upon  all  arri- 
vals, the  passengers  trod  the  shores  of  India.  They  all 
repaired  to  the  same  hotel,  and  Charley  had  ordered  a 
modest  chamber,  when  he  was  informed  by  the  waiter,  that 
Mr.  Johnstone,  whom  he  seemed  to  know  very  well,  had 
provided  one  for  him,  to  which  he  was  immediately  con- 
ducted. On  entering  it,  he  was  surprised  at  its  size  and 
elegance,  and  contemplated  remonstrating  with  his  friend 
on  his  extravagance,  but,  as  he  had  ordered  it,  he  concluded 
to  remain  in  it  at  least  one  night.  Having  changed  his 
garments,  he  was  thinking  of  just  taking  one  peep  into  the 
street  before  dinner,  when  a  servant  informed  him  that  Mr. 
Johnstone  requested  his  company  in  his  own  parlor.  Char- 
ley, descending  one  flight  of  stairs,  found  that  gentleman  in 
an  elegantly  furnished  room,  a  table  beautifully  arranged 
for  two  persons,  and  at  which  he  invited  him  most  gra- 
ciously to  seat  himself.  The  dinner  was  very  luxurious  and 
capitally  served.  Mr.  Johnstone,  now  a  changed  creature, 
gay  and  evidently  very  happy,  did  the  honors  of  the  repast 
with  remarkable  spirit.  Charley  thought  his  friend  a  little 
beside  himself,  for  the  nonce,  but  determined  to  have  every 
thing  set  right  by  the  next  day,  otherwise  he  should  be 
ruined  ;  he,  however,  made  no  comments  that  would  damp, 
as  he  thought,  the  excitement  attendant  upon  the  first  dinner 
on  shore. 

When    the  fruit  appeared  and    the  servants  had  retired, 
Mr.    Johnstone  addressed    him  thus :   '  You  are,  no  doubt, 
immensely  surprised,  my  dear  young  friend,  at  finding  me, 
19 


218 


THE    BARCLAYS 


as  you  may  naturally  enough  suppose,  squandering  away 
the  little  money  T  have.  Now,  permit  me  to  set  at  rest  all 
your  apprehensions.  You  must  henceforth  regard  me  not 
in  the  light  of  the  poor  Mr.  Johnstone,  but  the  rich  one  ;  for 
rich  I  am,  thank  God,  and  can  thereby  endeavor  to  repay 
you  for  all  the  immense  debt  of  gratitude  I  owe  you. 
Henceforth  you  are  to  be  my  guest.'  Observing  that  Charley 
was  about  to  object  to  this  arrangement,  he  resumed  :  '  lou 
must  not  say  one  word  in  opposition,  I  am  obstinately  bent 
upon  this,  and  will  have  my  own  way  ;  but  for  you,  your 
wondrously  noble  kindness,  I  should  have  been  fathoms 
deep  in  the  sea,  but  through  your  efforts,  under  Providence, 
I  am  now  a  regenerated  and  totally  changed  creature.  I 
feel  there  is  nothing  I  can  do  for  you  that  will  in  any  way 
prove  an  expression  of  my  gratitude,  so  you  must  receive 
whatever  my  paltry  wealth  can  effect.  Of  what  avail  was 
all  the  dross  I  had  hoarded,  when  I  had  lost  my  own  soul .' 
Through  you,  I  repeat,  I  am  in  a  hopeful  way  of  being 
brought  to  salvation,  and  since  the  wretched  day  you 
entered  my  state-room,  looking  like  an  angel  of  mercy,  a 
great  revolution  has  been  wrought  in  me.  But  why  should 
I  call  it  a  wretched  day  ?  —  rather  say  blessed.  Now  I  am, 
and  ever  have  been,  a  man  of  few  words  and  fewer  good 
deeds  :  you  must  allow  me  to  make  a  beginning,  and  with 
whom  can  I  do  this  so  effectually  as  my  preserver,  tempora- 
rily and  eternally  ;  '  and,  iinishing,  he  actually  wept  like  a 
child.  To  Charley,  who,  following  the  true  instinct  of  his 
own  excellent  nature,  had,  in  his  own  eyes,  only  performed 
a  simple  act  of  Christian  kindness,  this  ebullition  of  feeling 
on  the  part  of  his,  so  lately  saturnine  friend,  was,  indeed, 
extraordinary,  and  he  knew  not  what  lo  say.  He  disclaim- 
ed, however,  the  great  merit  attributed  to  him,  and  declared 
he  should  consider  himself  the  obliged  person. 

The  next  morning  he  wished  to  commence  his  operations 
immediatclv,  bat  Mr.  Johnstone  said  he  had  other  views  for 
him,  in  which  he  could  essentially  serve  him,  and  he  must 


OF    BOSTON.  219 

await  his  pleasure.  He  desired  his  young  friend  should  see 
the  city  thoroughly,  and,  in  the  interim,  he  would  arrange 
for  liim  something  which  he  thought  would  exactly  suit  him. 
This  was  cfFccted,  and  Charley,  instead  of  making  several 
India  voyages  to  and  fro,  was  installed  iq  a  mercantile 
house  for  two  or  three  years,  the  head  of  which  desired  to 
estahlish  a  hranch  in  America ;  and  all  this  was  done 
through  the  influence  of  Mr.  Johnstone  and  his  rupees.  Of 
the  latter  part  of  this  transaction,  Charley  was  kept  com- 
pletely ignorant.  He  knew  that  his  friend  had  been  en- 
gaged, at  one  time,  with  this  house,  and  supposed  they  had 
taken  him  to  oblige  Mr.  Johnstone.  It  was  a  sad  and  mel- 
ancholy sacrifice  for  him  to  abandon  his  dear  mother, 
brother  and  friends,  but  he  knew  full  well  he  could  never  be 
justified  in  renouncing  such  an  excellent  chance  for  prefer- 
ment, and  that  the  only  hope  he  had  on  earth  of  obtaining 
Grace  Barclay,  his  heart's  treasure,  laid  in  the  success  of 
his  apprenticeship  in  this  India  house.  It  was  a  golden 
venture,  and  no  considerations,  however  sentimentally  im- 
perative, must  bid  him  forego  the  positive  fact,  that  he 
might  in  time  become  sufficiently  important  to  his  employ- 
ers to  induce  them  to  bestow  upon  him  their  patronage  in 
his  native  land.  All  this  he  wrote,  in  a  joint  letter  to  his 
mother  and  Gerald,  and  also  in  another  to  Mr.  Barclay,  by 
the  same  ship  in  which  he  went  out. 

]\Irs.  Sanderson  was  greatly  afilictcd  when  the  vessel 
arrived  without  her  son,  tliough  she  had  already  received  an 
overland  duplicate  of  the  letter,  and  she  was  thoroughly 
prepared  not  to  see  him,  yet  there  had  ever  lingered  a  hope 
that  something  might  occur  which  would  prevent  his  stay 
in  India.  But  he  came  not,  and  in  lieu  of  the  Charley, 
she  beheld  a  Cashmere  shawl,  of  surpassing  beauty,  in  a 
camphor-wood  box,  a  present  from  a  man  whom  she  had 
never  seen,  and  a  letter,  detailing  most  frankly  and  circum- 
stantially, such  a  grateful  narrative  of  her  son's  admirable 
conduct  as  made  her  eyes  rain  tears  of  heartfelt  joy.     It  was 


220  THE     BARCLAYS 

then  she  reaped  the  fruits  of  the  good  seed  she  had  sown, 
and  a  proud  and  happy  mother  was  she  that  day  ! 

Mr.  Barclay  was  delighted  with  his  young  favorite's  cheer- 
ing prospects,  and  Gerald  carried  to  him  Mr.  Johnstone's 
letter,  which  he  read  with  intense  pleasure,  and  hegged  per- 
mission to  communicate  its  contents  to  his  family.  It  can 
safely  be  imagined  how  enchanted  was  Gracy  with  this 
missive,  and  how  she  gloried  in  her  choice,  when  she  heard 
all  she  loved,  praising  in  no  measured  terms,  the  Charley. 
She  felt  that  she  loved  him  a  thousand-fold  more,  now  that 
such  admirable  qualities  had  been  developed  in  him,  and 
she  was  quite  sure  all  her  family  sympathized  with  her, 
which  they  certainly  did. 

Mr.  Richard  said  that,  for  his  part,  he  was  in  no  wise 
surprised  at  Charley's  good  conduct,  and  he  thought  the 
very  best  thing  Mr.  Johnstone  could  do  was  to  adopt  him, 
he  having  neither  kith  nor  kin,  and  give  him  a  portion  of  his 
vast  wealth,  the  more  especially,  since  the  boy  had  taught 
him  that  there  was  something  better  to  worship  than  mam- 
mon. The  old  fellow  was  a  brand  saved  from  the  burning, 
but  better  late  tlian  never,  he  had  known  him  when  the  bark 
was  rougher. 

Mrs.  Ashley  exclaimed,  when  Charley's  letter  was  read 
to  her,  '  How  charmingly  romantic  !  Quite  an  iVrabian 
Night's  tale,  and  all  true,  nevertheless  ! '  Miss  Tidmarsh 
said,  that  '  There  was  always  something  happening  at  the 
Barclays ;  she  supposed  that  they  would  then  no  longer 
object  to  a  match  between  Grace  and  Charley  Sanderson 
as  there  was  a  good  prospect  of  wealth ;  though  she  had 
heard  they  had  hitherto  violently  opposed  it.'  And  this  was 
just  as  near  the  truth  as  that  veracious  person  ever  came. 
But  she  was  not  deterred  bv  her  ever-recurrin2,  ungracious 
opinions  of  her  neighbors,  from  frequenting  their  agreeable 
house,  and  constantly  bestowing  upon  them  her  disagreeable 
presence.  In  this  Miss  Eedmond,  agreeing  with  her  friend 
thoroughly,  yet  found  it  convenient  to  do  the  same  thing. 


OF     BOSTON.  221 

There  were  too  many  pleasant  people  clustered  round  the 
Barclays,  for  the  amiable  pair  to  renounce  visiting  where 
they  were  constantly  to  be  met.  As  soon  as  they  heard  of 
Charley's  good  fortune,  they  sallied  forth  to  verify  it,  and 
both  entered  Mrs.  Barclay's  library  at  once  ;  the  one  striding 
alonji,  and  the  other  half  slidinjj,  half  swimmino;.  Jane 
Redmond  informed  Mrs.  Barclay  that  her  father  had  been 
employed  by  Mr.  Johnstone  in  some  legal  business,  and  that 
Mr.  Redmond  was  far  from  thinking  that  gentleman  very 
wealthy,  and  conjectured  Mr.  Charley  Sanderson  must  be 
mistaken. 

Mrs.  Barclay  made  no  reply  to  this  speech ;  she  was  only 
amazed  that  Jane  had  been  able  to  extract  so  much  inform- 
ation about  any  one  from  her  restricted  paternal  intercourse. 
Mrs.  Gordon,  who  was  present,  begged  to  know  Mr.  John- 
stone's age.  Upon  that  question  being  propounded,  Mrs.  Ash- 
ley, in  high  glee,  declared  she  had  caught  her  friend  at  last. 
'I  am  surprised,'  she  exclaimed,  '  that  you,  dear  Mrs.  Gor- 
don, of  all  persons  in  the  world,  should  inquire  the  age  of 
any  one,  after  all  your  criticisms  upon  our  habits,  and  hav- 
ing heard  you  frequently  declare  that  you  were  never  an 
hour  in  American  society  without  listening  to  this  question  ; 
I  repeat,  1  am  astonished.' 

'  That's  very  true,'  replied  the  lady,  '  I  make  no  denial, 
and  am  fairly  entrapped.  You  remember  the  "  evil  com- 
munications" of  our  copy-books,  and  also  have  not  forgotten 
good  Mr.  Burlington's  habit  of  always  diminishing  the  for- 
tunes of  his  friends,  and  adding  to  their  ages,  so  that  what 
he  subtracted  from  their  wealth  he  piled  on  to  their  years. 
A  very  innocently  dangerous  person  was  he.  Age  is  a 
favoriie  topic  in  our  country.  I  lived  abroad  many  years, 
and  never  heard  the  subject  mentioned,  and,  for  aught  I 
knew  to  the  contrary,  might  have  been  sweet  seventeen, 
but  now  the  nearest  approach  I  make  to  receiving  a  compli- 
ment is,  that  I  wear  well,  hold  my  own,  and  bear  my  years. 
Thus,  however  flattering  may  be  the  intentions  in  the  be- 
19* 


222  THE    BARCLAYS 

stowal  of  these  very  apocryphal  favors,  they  come  to  me 
in  a  decidedly  neutralized  state.  You  may  all  laugh  as 
much  as  you  please,  I  don't  believe  the  men  like  this  sort 
of  sugar-plums  any  better  than  the  women.  An  old  friend 
of  mine  told  me,  that  he  was  sitting  in  the  reading-room  of 
the  Tremont  House,  last  week,  when  two  men,  having 
glowered  at  him  an  immense  long  while,  crossed  the  floor 
and  asked  his  age,  in  a  respectful  manner,  it  must  be  stated. 
"  Upon  which,"  said  he,  "  I  flew  at  them  in  a  violent 
rage,  and  asked  them  what,  in  the  devil's  name,  they  wished 
to  know  it  for  ?  1  being  bald,  half-blind  and  lame."  So, 
you  perceive,  the  other  sex,  even  at  an  advanced  period,  is 
as  techy  as  we  are  on  this  debatable  ground,  and  the  fewer 
remarks  you  make  upon  my  comments,  the  better.  And, 
permit  me  to  assure  you,  my  good  friends,  that  no  one  will 
find  me  encouraging  the  idle  curiosity  of  the  little  Pedling- 
ton  school,  by  divulging  the  number  of  cycles  which  have 
gathered  around  my  head,  unless  an  immense  heritage  is 
to  be  gained  by  the  confession.' 

'And  you  are  perfectly  right,  Mrs.  Gordon,'  said  Mr. 
Richard.  '  What  imperthient  and  futile  curiosity  !  I  don't 
think  that  even  I  myself  would  like  to  confess  my  age  any 
better  than  your  old  friend,  who  was  made  so  furiously 
angry  by  those  ill-behaved  fellows.  But  it's  just  the  way 
here  always ;  it's  every  body's  business  to  know  every 
body's  business.  Give  me  a  country  where  people  are 
unacquainted  with  their  next-door  neighbors,  I  say.  What 
a  terrestrial  paradise  such  a  land  must  be,  no  Mrs.  Grundy 
extant ;  slie  has  always  lived  in  all  the  streets  I  have  inhab- 
ited, and  exercised  full  sway 


OF    BOSTON.  223 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 


•  To-morrow  you  take  a  poor  dinner  with  me  ; 
No  words  —  I  insist  on  't  —  precisely  at  three.' 

Goldsmith. 

One  evening,  after  dinner  with  the  Barclays,  Mr.  Egerton, 
who  had  now  become  quite  domesticated  in  their  establish- 
ment, —  that  is,  for  him,  —  arose  to  depart,  for  he  never 
remained  in  the  evening,  and  solemnly  invited  the  whole 
family  to  dinner  with  him  in  one  week  from  that  time.  Mr. 
Barclay,  quite  taken  aback,  in  a  nautical  way,  accepted  on 
the  spot,  and  would,  probably,  have  done  the  same  thing  the 
next  day,  so  touched  was  he  by  this  demonstration  of  good- 
will from  the  pragmatical  and  inhospitable  personage.  As 
this  event  occurred  soon  after  Georgiana  Barclay's  restora- 
tion to  health,  the  kindness  of  this  unwonted  proceeding  was 
manifest,  and  it  was  evident  that  Mr.  Egerton  had  decided 
upon  this  grand  experiment  in  his  life  from  the  most  deli- 
cate motives,  decidedly  wishing  to  evince  to  the  whole 
community  his  entire  belief  in  the  truth  of  Miss  Barclay's 
melancholy  story. 

Mr.  Egerton  walked  in  solemn  state  round  the  assembled 
friends,  and  personally  requested  the  honor  of  Mrs.  Ashley's 
company  and  that  of  Mr.  Richard  Barclay.  The  lady  gra- 
ciously assented,  and  the  gentleman  did  not  decline,  to  the 
utter  amazement  of  his  brother  and  sister,  who  were  just  as 
much  astonished  at  the  invitation,  as  at  its  prompt  accept- 
ance. This  ceremony  completed,  Mr.  Egerton  begged,  as 
a  particularly  personal  favor,  that  Kate  might  be  allowed  to 
join  the  party.     At  this  proposition  both  her  parents  de- 


224  THE    BARCLAYS 

murred,  pleading  her  youth,  but  on  his  strenuously  persist- 
ing, they  consented. 

No  sooner  did  the  assent  fall  upon  the  Dolly's  enraptured 
ears,  than  she  rushed  like  wildfire  out  of  the  library,  and 
skipping  up  four  stairs  at  a  time,  bounded  into  the  nursery, 
embracing  Dame  Bristow  again  and  again,  and  then  waltzed 
round  the  room  till  she  fell  exhausted  into  a  chair. 

*  What  is  the  matter,  deary  r  '  cried  Nursey. 

'  I'm  invited  to  a  dinner-party,  Nursey.  What  do  you 
think  Mary  Redmond  will  say  when  she  hears  of  it  ?  ' 

With  both  hands  upraised  in  wonder,  Nursey  Bristow 
regarded  her  child  for  a  long  timq  before  she  could  re- 
gain her  speech,  and  inquire  '  Where  r ' 

'Guess,  Nursey,  guess;  I'll  give  you  one,  two,  three, 
and  even  four  hours  to  discover  ;  and  you'll  never  do  it 
then.' 

'  I  can't  wait,  darling,'  said  that  bewildered  and  worthy 
woman  ;  '  I  can't  indeed.  W^herc  can  it  be  ?  Who  could 
have  been  so  silly  as  to  ask  such  a  child  as  you  to  a  formal 
dinner-party  with  grown-up  people  ?  1  shall  never  guess,  if 
I  go  on  forever ;  so  pray  tell  me,  that's  a  dear.' 

'  Well  then,'  said  the  Dolly,  rising  from  her  recumbent 
position  with  the  most  important  air  imaginable,  and  drawing 
herself  up  to  her  utmost  height,  '  I  am  asked  to  dine  with 
the  redoubtable  Mr.  Philip  Egerton,  Nursey  mine.' 

'  You'll  never  be  permitted  to  go,  deary.' 

'  But  I  am  already;  and  have  obtained,  not  the  unqualified 
consent,  to  be  sure,  of  both  my  respectable  parents.  Just 
think  of  that,  ma'am,  as  long  as  you  please  ;  contemplate 
the  subject,  Nursey,  and  revolve  it  over  in  your  own  per- 
spicacious mind, —  please  do.' 

Nursey  rolled  up  her  old  eyes  over  her  spectacles,  and 
exclaimed,  '  Well,  well,  miracles  will  never  cease,  my  dar- 
ling ;  the  world  is  certainly  coming  to  an  end.' 

'  Not  before  we  have  had  our  grand  dinner,  I  hope.' 


OF    BOSTON.  225 

'  When  did  the  old  miser  invite  you,  my  child  ?  ' 

'  Even  just  this  minute,  Nursey.  I  tore  up  to  tell  you, — 
I  mean  to  say,  walked  up,  —  now  that  I  am  bidden  to  feasts 
and  to  sit  at  great  men's  boards.' 

'  All,  all  invited  ? '  asked  Nursey.  '  And  Miss  Georgy, 
will  she  go  ? ' 

'  I  hope  and  pray  she  may  ;  for,  do  you  know,  Nursey, 
it's  my  private  opinion  that  this  grand  and  unheard-of  de- 
monstration is  made  in  her  honor  quite  entirely.' 

Nursey  agreed  with  her  darling  Completely,  and  felt  the 
attention.  It  would  have  hardly  been  one  from  any  one 
else  but  from  Mr.  Egerton,  who  had  never  been  known  to 
give  a  dinner  in  his  life  —  it  was  extraordinary  !  So  Dame 
Bristow  resolved,  mentally,  never  again  to  call  Mr.  Egerton 

*  the  old  miser.' 

'  Now,  Nursey  dear,  what  shall  I  wear  to  this  grand  ban- 
quet ? '  asked  the  young  romp,  in  a  most  excited  manner. 

*  Oh  dear  !  how  I  wish  ! ' 

'  What's  the  use  of  wishing,  deary,  for  any  thing  you've 
not  got  ?  for  you  know,  perfectly  well,  your  mother  will 
never  allow  you  to  wear  any  thing  but  a  book-muslin.' 

'  Oh  !  now  I  do  wish,  Nursey,  that  all  the  book-muslins 
in  the  world  were  at  the  bottom  of  the  deep,  deep  sea. 
What  I,  Miss  Kate  Barclay,  do  want,  and  am  literally  dying 
for,  is  a  magnificent  Maria  Louisa  blue  brocade,  embroid- 
ered with  superb  pomegranate  blossoms,  which  I  stood  an 
hour  —  disobeying  my  mother,  who  charged  me  never  to  do 
such  things  —  admiring  at  a  shop-window  in  Washington 
street.  If  I  could  but  possess  it !  Do  you  think,  Nursey, 
it  was  named  after  the  charming  Louisa  of  Prussia,  or 
that  horrid  Austrian  woman,  a  disgrace  to  her  sex,  who 
abandoned  her  husband,  and  left  him  to  die  alone  on  the 
rock  in  the  wide  ocean  ?  ' 

This  being  an  historical  doubt  which  Nursey  was  unable 
to  solve,  she  only  nodded  her  ignorance. 

'  Do  you  think  I  can  have  it  for  this  dinner  t  ' 


226  THE    BARCLAYS 

'  I've  already  told  you,  Miss,  that  you  can't.  What  ab- 
surd nonsense  for  you  to  desire  such  a  dress  as  that;  its 
positively  ridiculous  for  you  to  think  of  it.  You  can't  carry 
it  off;  you're  not  old  enough.' 

'  Put  me  into  it,  Nurscy,  and  try  me  —  you'll  see  if  I 
can't.' 

'  And  it  was  very  wrong  of  you,  Miss,  to  stand  staring 
into  shop-windows,  when  your  mother  forbade  you  to  do  so; 
and  as  to  its  being  for  an  hour,  I  don't  believe  a  word  of 
that  —  for  liow  could  ycRi  keep  still  so  long  ?  ' 

'  Oh,  never  mind  all  that,  Nursey  dear :  if  I  could  but 
have  that  dress,  what  a  happy  creature  I  should  be.  At  any 
rate,  I  must  have  some  new  ribbons  for  my  sleeves  and  my 
sash.' 

'  Why,  you've  plenty  of  sashes.  Miss.' 

'Yes;  but  if  I  cannot  be  the  ecstatic  possessor  of  that 
unsurpassed  brocade,  I  must  have  |)omegranate-colored  rib- 
bons for  my  "bonnie  brown  hair."  ' 

'Your  bonnie  brown  hair!  Why,  it's  as  black  as  a 
crow's;  and  I  was  just  thinking  how  very  becoming  would 
be  the  long  tails  with  the  brocade.' 

The  Dolly,  planting  herself  directly  before  Xursey,  said  : 
'  Now,  Nursey,  you  can't  seriously  imagine  that  I'm  to 
sport  those  two  execrable  Chinese  appendages  at  my  first 
dinner-party  !  ' 

'  Why  not  then,  deary  .'  ' 

'  Because  I  propose  to  obtain  the  royal  permission  that  the 
abom  nable  objectionablcs  shall  be  disposed  around  my  all- 
beauteous  pericranium  like  a  coronal.  Dame  Bristow.' 

'  A  what .'  '  demanded  Nursey,  extremely  puzzled  to 
follow  her  birdling  into  her  amazing  Johnsonian  flights. 

'  Why,  a  crov.n  imperial,  Nursey  ;  in  ])lain  j)arlance,  I 
mean  they  shall  form  a  diadem.  Wlio  knows  what  inroads 
t'>ey  may  make  into  '  the  old  miser's  '  heart  of  Iiearls.  I 
can't  help  thinking  I've  made  an  impression  even  now,  lie 
was  so  urgent  for  my  august  presence  at  his  festive  board. 


OF  BOSTON.  227 

And  then  the  ribbons !     Who  knows,  Nursey,  what  they 
may  do  ?  — 

"  A  pomegranate  flower  bear 
In  blossom  to  my  love."  ' 

'  Oh  ! '  cried  Nursey,  out  of  all  patience  ;  '  your  sisters 
never  ran  on,  Miss,  in  such  a  way.  Why  don't  you  take  a 
leaf  out  of  their  good  books,  and  behave  yourself.  They 
never  gave  your  mother,  or  I,  half  the  trouble  you  do,  — 
we're  both  obliged  to  be  eternally  watching  you.' 

'  Well,  well,  I  know  all  that,  just  as  perfectly  as  you  do  ; 
but  then  they  "  never  loved,  like  Nathalie,  her  goosv, 
poosy  " — and  you  know  it.  Now,  what  I  ardently  desire 
is  to  coax  you  to  coax  my  mother  to  issue  a  royal  mandate, 
that  the  hair  which,  but  for  your  admirable  management, 
would  never  have  been  brought  into  order,  —  you  having 
made  things  straight  which  were  never  intended  so  to  be  — 
shall  be  elevated  to  the  top  of  my  head,  and  never  again 
left  to  fall  in  straight  lines.  Hogarth's  curved  ones  for  me 
forever  !     Do  you  hear,  Bristolinda  ?  ' 

'  Oh  yes,  I  hear  —  but  don't  believe  she  will  consent.' 

'Now  if  you'll  do  but  this  one  thing  forme,  I'll  hug 
all  the  breath  out  of  your  old  body.  How  I  wish  the  same 
accident  that  occurred  to  poor  Rachel  Taylor  might  happen 
to  me.  She  and  her  mother  bewailed  it  in  dust  and  ashes, 
and  ate  earth  on  the  occasion.' 

'  What  was  it  r  '  inquired  Nursey. 

'  Oh  !  she  went  to  a  panorama  of  something  or  other, 
either  of  the  Nile  or  a  whaling  voyage,  I  forget  which  ;  and 
you  know  all  such  places  are  pokerishl}^  dark  '*  abysses 
profound,"  and  when  she  came  out,  her  two  magnificent 
John  Chinamen  were  missing.  Some  amiable  philanthro- 
pist—  I  wish  I  could  meet  with  him  —  had  despoiled  her  of 
her  hirsute  possessions  ;  and  how  she  mourned  their  loss,  no 
tongue  can  tell.  Mrs.  Taylor  has  not  done  fretting  yet,  and 
never  will  until  bounteous  nature  supplies  the  deficiency. 
Now,  I  should  have  considered  it  a  benevolent  exploit  on  the 


228  THE    BARCLAYS 

part  of  the  operator  ;  the  mother  took  a  totally  different 
view  of  the  subject,  and  called  him  or  her  "  a  horrid  thief."  ' 

'  It  was  a  melancholy  loss,'  sighed  Nursey. 

'  Oh,  I  dare  say  you  would  never  have  got  over  the 
calamity  ;  but  please  don't  forget  to  broach  my  all-impor- 
tant affair  to  my  mother  to-morrow  morning  betimes,  dar- 
ling.' So  saying,  she  embraced  Nursey  tightly,  and  de- 
scended to  the  library,  six  stairs  at  a  time,  and  resumed 
her  accustomed  seat. 

'  Don't  you  begin  to  think,'  said  Mr.  Barclay,  '  that  a 
young  lady  who  is  bidden  to  banquets  is  too  old  to  sit  on 
her  father's  knee,  my  Dolly  ?  ' 

'  Suppose  then  that  you  put  me  down,  my  father;  such  a 
positive  case  of  abandonment  may  be  imagined.' 

This  not  being  done,  the  conversation  turned  upon  the 
marvellous  event  of  the  invhation  from  Mr.  Egcrton.  Mrs. 
Ashley  declared  she  did  not  believe  in  it  at  all  ;  it  was  a 
myth  ;  and  if  they  really  went,  they  should  find  it  a  Barme- 
cide's feast,  —  and  then  she  inquired  of  Mr.  llichard  how  he, 
who  had  until  lately  eschewed  the  gentleman,  should  have 
permitted  himself  to  be  seduced  into  a  doubtful  allegiance  by 
the  first  temptation  of  the  arch  seducer,  Mr.  Philip  Egerton.' 

'  I  think,'  answered  Mr.  Richard,  '  that  my  brother  John 
will  explain  this  to  you  at  some  more  convenient  period.  I 
am  free  to  confess  that  I  have  much  mollified  my  recent 
opinions  touching  that  gentleman,  even  to  the  acceptance  of 
a  dinner,  and  actually  went  the  length  of  calling  upon  him 
formally  last  week.' 

'  This  is  quite  marvellous,'  resumed  the  lady ;  '  but  I  re- 
main still  doubtful  respecting  the  banquet.' 

'  Perhaps  you  would  be  more  credulous  if  you  had  listen- 
ed to  a  short  interlude  I  enjoyed  with  JMr.  Egerton,'  said 
Mrs.  Barclay,  '  just  before  our  own  meal  to-day,  when  he 
consulted  me  anent  about  his  projected  hospitalities,  and, 
moreover,  invited  me  ;  tlius  I  was  the  first  person  asked.' 

*  We  shall  see  1 '  said  Mrs.  Ashley,  *  and  seeing  is  believ- 


OF    BOSTON.  229 

ing,  though  I  have  even  heard  obstinate  persons  declare  it 
was  not.' 

'  Why  should  not  Mr.  Egerton  give  a  dinner  ? '  inquired 
Mr.  Barclay. 

'  Because  he  never  has,'  replied  the  lady. 

'  There  exists  no  reason  why  he  should  not  begin  to  adopt 
hospitable  and  pleasant  ways,  even  at  the  last  hour,'  said 
Mr.  Barclay. 

'  I  confess  to  an  unusual  proportion  of  curiosity,'  said  Mrs. 
Ashley,  'about  this  forthcoming  repast,  and  would  willingly 
have  renounced  all  my  future  engagements  for  the  chance 
of  fulfilling  this  one,  and  am  really  glad  he  asked  me.  How 
I  shall  surprise  all  my  friends,  when  I  can  say,  carelessly,  I 
dined  on  such  a  day  with  Mr.  Egerton,  and  we  had  thus 
and  so  ;  and  shall  astonish  them  quite  as  much  as  when  I 
mention  my  elephant,  which  I  keep  in  petto  for  grand  occa- 
sions.' 

'  Now,  dear  Mrs.  Ashley,  pray  tell  us  of  your  forest 
friend,'  said  Georgiana  ;  '  I  think  I  never  heard  you  mention 
this  before.' 

'  When  I  was  in  Geneva,  in  Switzerland,'  said  the  lady, 
*  there  came  down  a  man  from  Paris  to  that  curious  old 
town,  with  Mademoiselle  Djeck,  the  elephant,  whom  I  be- 
lieve had  figured  in  this  country  also.  After  exhibiting  her 
ladyship  a  few  weeks,  the  keeper  ran  away,  and  left  her  to 
the  tender  mercies  of  the  authorities,  and  remarkably  tender 
they  were  ;  they're  a  saving  people,  the  Genevese,  They 
ordered  her  to  be  placed  in  a  dry  ditch  under  the  ramparts 
of  that  locked-up  .city  ;  but  finding  she  consumed  an  im- 
mense quantity  of  food,  they  decided  to  slay  her,  for  econo- 
my's sake.  This  was  accordingly  done,  and  her  flesh  sold 
in  the  market-place,  and  most  eagerly  purchased  ;  and  will 
you  believe  me,  I  tasted  a  tiny  bit,  that  I  might  astonish  peo- 
ple when  they  were  boasting  of  having  eaten  odd  things, 
just  for  a  show-ofF.' 
20 


230  THE    BARCLAYS 

'  How  did  you  relish  your  tempting  morsel  ?  '  inquired 
Grace. 

'  Not  much,'  answered  Mrs.  Ashley  ;  '  it  tasted  like  coarse 
beef.  I  was  soon,  however,  at  a  large  dinner  party,  com- 
posed of  natives  of  various  lands,  and  many  of  them  great 
travellers  ;  they  were  all  narrating  their  numerous  experi- 
ences in  gastronomy.  One  had  eaten  buffalo,  one  snails, 
another  Chinese  dogs,  &c.  ;  but  I  distanced  them  all  by 
gravely  avowing  my  own  experiment.  You  should  have 
seen  how  they  looked  at  me  !  They  were  quite  mortified  at 
being  eclipsed  by  a  woman,  and  thought  me  an  ogress 
besides.' 

'  Not  a  very  frightful  one,  at  least,'  said  Mrs.  Barclay. 

'  Now,'  resumed  Mrs.  Ashley,  '  perceiving  I  have  made 
an  impression,  I  shall  depart  ;  but  must  add  that,  some  time 
afterwards,  I  met  a  Genevese  surgeon,  who  assisted  at  the 
massacre  of  the  big  innocent.  Mademoiselle  Djeck,  and  he 
informed  me  that  nothing  could  have  been  more  aflecting 
than  her  execution.  At  first,  the  soldiers  who  were  employ- 
ed to  destroy  her,  missed  fire,  and  the  poor  animal,  suppos- 
ing this  to  be  the  word  of  command  her  late  master  was  in 
the  habit  of  using,  actually  went  down  on  her  knees  to  be 
killed.  Of  one  thing  I  am  perfectly  sure,  I  should  not  have 
tasted  the  morsel  of  her  flesli,  had  I  heard  this  account  before 
it  was  offered  to  me.     So  good-night,  my  friends.' 

Mrs.  Ashley  departed.  '  What  a  pleasant  person  she  is  ! ' 
said  Grace,  — '  always  having  some  amusing  reminiscence.' 

'  She  is  a  remarkable  instance,'  observed  Mrs.  Barclay, 
'  of  what  may  be  done,  with  a  good  temper,  kind  heart,  keen 
eyesight  and  retentive  memory.  There  are  many  women, 
vastly  better  educated  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  who  are 
not  half  so  companionable  or  agreeable.  Mrs.  Ashley  never 
gives  us  any  strong-minded  looks,  and  really  entertains  a 
rather  inferior  opinion  of  her  own  abilities,  as  such  ;  but 
what  she  has  seen  she  remembers  and  describes  most  agree- 
ably.    Mrs.  Ashley  is  neither  any  great  reader  of  solidities. 


OF     BOSTON.  231 

but  as  we  have  so  many  who  devote  profound  attentions  to 
incomprehensibilities,  it  matters  not.' 

'  I'll  defy  any  of  the  class  you  refer  to,'  said  Mr.  Richard, 
'  to  use  a  longer  word  than  that;  but  I  observed,  my  dear 
Georgiana,  a  decided  negative  in  your  expressive  face  when 
Mr.  Egerton  invited  you.     Please  accept,  I  pray.' 

'  I  cannot  indeed,  my  dear  Uncle  Richard.' 

'  I  must  not  hear  you  say  this,  Georgy  ;  there  are  many 
considerations  which  will  arise  in  your  mind,  on  reflection, 
and  induce  you  to  change  your  opinion,  I  hope.' 

'  Say  yes,  my  child,'  said  Mr.  Barclay,  '  and  confer  a 
favor  on  your  mother  and  myself,  as  well  as  your  Uncle 
Richard.' 

Georgy  not  being  proof  against  these  entreaties,  consented. 

'  Now  you  are  all  in  the  mood  of  granting  melting  peti- 
tions,' said  the  Dolly,  '  do  please  let  my  Chinese  tails  be 
gracefully  disposed  around  my  brainless  head  on  that  mo- 
mentous occasion.  I  've  hardly  heard  a  word  of  the  con- 
versation this  evening,  for  thinking  of  being  obligated  to 
wear  them  hanging,  dingle-dangle,  to  my  first  dinner-party. 
All  the  energies  of  my  being  are  concentrated  in  the  obtain- 
ing of  this  one  favor,  and  its  denial  will  make  me  unutter- 
ably wretched  ;  so  relieve  me  of  my  weight  of  woe,  I  pray.' 

Both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barclay  laughed  heartily  at  the  Dolly's 
'  jMisery  of  human  life,'  and  promised  that  she  should  be 
gratified,  and,  even  more,  that  she  might  ask  Nursey 
Bristow  to  commence  operations  the  next  day,  so  that  the 
ofiending  elongations  might  be  brought  into  proper  order 
before  the  dinner,  the  permission  extending  no  further.  So 
the  Dolly  retired  to  her  dormitorv-,  and  nearly  annihilated 
Nursey  in  her  ecstasies  of  delight  at  the  completion  of  her 
wishes;  fell  fast  asleep,  and  dreamed  they  were  cut  ofi', — 
and  awoke,  crying  heartily  because  they  were  not. 


232  THE    BARCLAYS 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 


'  Now  each  mechanical  man 

Hath  a  cupboard  of  plate  for  show, 
Which  was  a  rare  thing 
"When  this  old  cap  was  new.' 

Old  Ballad. 

The  next  morning,  after  his  dinner  at  Mr.  Barclay's,  Mr. 
Egerton  propounded  to  Mrs.  Sanderson  his  intention  of 
giving  to  ;Miss  Barclay  a  grand  feast ;  and  this  information 
was  imparted  in  such  a  solemn  manner,  that  it  occasioned 
a  vast  degree  of  astonishment  in  the  person  to  whom  it  was 
addressed.  But  if  the  lady  was  amazed,  her  servants'  de- 
light was  unbounded.  As  the  conversation  occurred  at 
breakfast,  Peter  heard  it  almost  unbelievingly,  but  never- 
theless ran  out,  as  soon  as  he  had  finished  his  service,  and 
cried  out,  '  Oh,  Miss  Dinah,  [Massa's  goin'  to  gib  a  hightop 
dinner — a  Bethazzar's  feast  —  to  all  the  bigwigs;  noffin 
was  ever  like  it,  or  ever  will  be  again.  Do  you  hear,  ole 
woman?  Why  don't  you  answer?'  Peter  might  well  ask 
this  question,  for  the  cook  was  speechless.  In  time,  how- 
ever, she  regained  her  voice,  and  poured  forth  such  a  volley 
of  questions  !  —  '  Who  was  coming  ?  What  were  they  to 
have  to  eat  ?  and  last,  not  least,  What  was  she  in  the  varsal 
world  to  do  ?  How  could  she  ever  manage  a  grand  din- 
ner ?  ' 

'  Oh  !  nebber  give  yourself  any  concern  whatsomdever  in 
this  matter,  Miss  Dinah ;  you're  not  to  touch  the  dinner. 
I  heerd  my  3Iassa  say  the  great  Miss  Thompson  was  to  be 
sent  for,  and  the  great  !Mr.  John  Leander  Pitts  with  all  his 


OF    BOSTON.  233 

men.  I  tell  you,  ole  woman,  I  thought  I  should  drop  down 
right  back  of  my  Massa's  chair,  I'se  so  glad  and  so  proud 
the  ole  house  is  to  be  opened  agin.  I  nebber  spccted  to  see 
any  more  grand  company  here,  Miss  Dinah,  Oh  !  the  good 
ole  times !  ' 

Peter,  like  all  his  race,  was  excessively  fond  of  society, 
of  feasts  and  gay  shows,  and  this  unexpected  event  had 
actually  turned  his  old  head,  as  he  declared,  '  insidout.' 
Miss  Dinah's  mind,  being  happily  relieved  from  the  Ata- 
lantean  weight  of  a  grand  dinner,  could  take  in  Peter's 
rhapsodies  very  comfortably ;  but  it  was  in  vain  for  her  to 
attempt  to  follow  him  in  all  his  flights  which  were  accom- 
panied with  the  cracking  of  his  fingers,  and  a  touch  of  heel 
and  toe,  as  he  recounted  the  glories  of  old  Massa's  time. 

If  there  were  commotion  in  the  kitchen,  there  was  also 
excitement  in  Mrs.  Sanderson's  quarters,  for  she  began 
precisely  as  did  the  Dolly,  with  wishing  she  had  something 
to  wear  befitting  the  occasion.  It  was  not  exactly  a  iMaria 
Louisa  brocade,  embroidered  with  pomegranate  blossoms, 
but  still  a  dress  was  required.  She  immediately  occupied 
herself  in  overlooking  her  long-forgotten  finery,  and  was 
surprised  to  discover  many  beautiful  articles  which  had 
been  lying  hidden  in  divers  coffers.  Mrs.  Sanderson's  young 
husband  had  always  admired  pretty  things  on  women,  and 
had  more  than  surpassed  his  small  means  in  making  ex- 
pensive purchases  for  her,  which,  as  he  was  laughingly 
wont  to  say,  was  throwing  away  his  money,  for  she  never 
wore  them  more  than  once.  In  truth,  they  were  altogether 
too  elegant  for  her  small  establishment,  yet  she  could  never 
bear  to  tell  him  this,  and  accepted  them  in  the  same  gracious 
spirit  in  which  they  were  presented. 

There  was  one  dress,  an  emerald  green  velvet,  a  great 
favorite  of  his,  lying  in  its  folds,  as  fresh  as  the  day  it  was 
purchased,  and  as  men,  when  they  buy  women's  gear,  al- 
ways get  yards  and  yardatoo  much,  she  soon  had  the  waist 
20* 


234  THE    BARCLAYS 

and'  sleeves  remodelled,  and  it  turned  out,  as  it  really  was, 
most  beautiful  and  very  becoming. 

Peter  and  Dinah  recommenced  operations  instanter,  and 
cleaned  over  and  over  again  all  the  plate  in  the  house.  The 
massive  chests  on  being  opened,  revealed  such  treasures ! 
and  such  a  magnificent  display  as  was  made  of  things  that 
had  not  seen  the  light  for  years,  quite  beggars  description ! 
Then  Dinah  carried  tubs  and  tubs  of  hot  water  into  the 
china  closet,  and  washed  its  contents,  as  if  they  had  never 
been  touched  before. 

But  this  china-closet  demands  a  special  notice.  In  the 
first  place,  it  should  have  been  denominated  a  cabinet,  so 
ample  were  its  dimensions,  and  so  rare  and  costly  its  con- 
tents ;  in  fact,  the  sight  of  it  was  sufficient  to  drive  a  col- 
lector of  curiosities  quite  mad,  and  to  arouse  all  manner  of 
envious  feelings  in  the  breasts  of  porcelain  hunters.  Every 
variety  of  the  old  burnt  china,  so  valuable  even  in  its  own 
land,  the  curiously  cracked,  with  the  rare  colors,  and  the 
transparent  biscuit  were  all  there.  Whole  sets  of  these,  sepa- 
rately arranged,  many  of  them  with  the  arms  and  initials  of 
the  family,  graced  the  broad  shelves,  interspersed  with 
green  dragons  and  blue  cats.  There  were  dinner  services 
innumerable  and  tea  to  match,  and  such  superb  desserts ! 
In  fact,  there  was  no  end  of  the  beauty  and  value  of  these 
treasures.  Now,  it  cannot  be  truthfully  asserted  that  the 
presiding  guardian  of  this  closet,  Miss  Dinah,  was  aware  of 
their  intrinsic  worth,  but  they  were,  nevertheless,  her  house- 
hold gods,  for  had  they  not  belonged  to  '  ole  I\Iassa!'  and 
no  care  that  she  could  bestow  upon  them  was  sufficient. 
Whenever  she  was  missing,  Peter  always  declared  she 
would  be  found  in  that  '  china-closet,'  a-cleaning  the  crock- 
ery. 

The  eventful  and  long  wished-for  day  arrived  for  the 
feast.  Mr.  John  Lcander  Pitts  walked  into  the  dining-room, 
with  his  men,  and  Mrs.  Thompson  stalked  into  the  kitchen. 
She  found  every  thing  in  order  for  her  operations,  and  the 


OF    BOSTON.  235 

great  John  Leander  stood,  spell-bound,  before  the  above- 
mentioned  wonders  of  porcelain  which  Peter  exhibited  in  the 
most  vain-glorious  manner,  inquiring  every  two  minutes,  '  if 
he  had  ever  set  his  two  ole  eyes  upon  de  like  ; '  which  John 
Leander  was  fain  to  confess,  much  against  his  will,  he  never 
had. 

At  five  of  the  clock  the  guests  were  assembled  punctu- 
ally. They  were  ushered,  with  all  manner  of  indescribable 
scrapes  and  bows,  by  Peter,  into  the  library,  which  served  for 
the  time  as  a  cloak-room,  and  thereby  was  avoided  the  disa- 
greeable necessity  of  mounting  flights  of  stairs,  which  uni- 
versally exists  in  American  city  houses.  To  persons  enter- 
taining a  pious  horror  of  the  treadmill,  this  is  a  serious 
objection  to  all  the  parties  given.  Then  Peter  marshalled 
the  company  into  the  best  parlor,  which,  it  cannot  be  denied, 
Avas  quite  as  stiff  and  formal,  though  not  so  cheerless  and 
cold  as  usual. 

The  half  hour  before  dinner  is  proverbially  stupid,  and 
this  was  no  exception  to  the  general  rule.  The  imperfect 
light,  from  a  blazing  fire  in  the  grate,  served  to  give  flicker- 
ing glimpses  of  the  assemblage,  and  the  rather  low  and 
whispered  tones,  in  which  a  sort  of  meteorological  conver- 
sation was  held,  was  rather  appalling,  and  then  the  chairs 
and  tables  nailed  to  the  wall,  nobody  daring  to  move  a  seat, 
it  looked  so  forbidding. 

The  Dolly,  in  a  white  book-muslin,  with  pomegranate- 
colored  ribbons  in  her  sleeves,  and  such  a  love  of  a  sash, 
and  above  all,  the  Chinese  tails  bound  around  her  well-turned 
head  in  magnificent  profusion,  really  looked  very  pretty; 
but  then  she  wished  herself,  in  that  solemn  interval,  fairly 
at  home,  with  Nursey  Bristow  and  her  pet  kitten,  at  least 
fifty  times.  All  things  come  to  an  end,  dreary  and  other- 
wise, and  Peter  entering  with  a  magnificent  low  bow,  which 
he  had  practised  before  one  of  the  large  mirrors,  many  a 
time,  and  which  was  unfortunately  lost  in  the  obscurity, 
announced  dinner.     Then  came  a  change  indeed,  a  blaze  of 


236  THE    BARCLAYS 

lights,  exquisite  flowers,  and  such  cut-glass  and  old  plate  as 
decorated  the  board,  the  latter  of  such  rare  workmanship 
and  splendor  as  attracted  all  eyes.  Tongues  were  then  let 
loose  in  their  natural  tones,  and  the  genial  influence  of  the 
scene  produced  a  corresponding  feeling.  The  party  con- 
sisted of  Mr.  Barclay,  his  wife,  and  three  daughters,  Gerald 
Sanderson,  his  mother,  Mr.  Richard  Barclay,  Mrs.  Ashley, 
Mr.  Meredith,  a  young  clergyman,  Mr.  Naseby,  Mr.  Rose- 
velt,  an  officer  in  the  navy,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.'  Gordon,  and 
their  daughter  Clara,  and  her  eldest  brother. 

When  the  guests  had  found  their  places,  which  were  indi- 
cated by  a  small  card  in  each  plate,  Mr.  Egerton  requested 
Mr.  Meredith  to  say  grace,  when  there  fell  upon  their  pleased 
ears  such  a  voice,  so  musical  in  its  tones,  and  which,  once 
heard,  it  was  impossible  to  forget.  Indeed,  Peter,  in  giving 
to  Dinah  a  glowing  description  of  Mr.  Meredith,  reported  his 
voice  to  be  '  the  Melodeon  of  the  spears.'  There  was  at 
once  undisguised  admiration  expressed  for  the  old  plate  and 
china,  Mrs.  Gordon  declaring  herself  really  tempted  to  be 
envious  at  the  sight.  All  this  praise  was  not  unacceptable 
to  the  host ;  he  certainly  quite  prided  himself  upon  these 
among  his  abundant  possessions,  for  there  was  a  different 
service  for  each  course. 

The  Dolly  found  herself  seated  next  the  Rev.  Mr.  Mere- 
dith, who,  addressing  to  her  some  slight  remarks,  was  ex- 
tremely amused  at  her  answers,  and  became  quite  interested 
in  his  young  neighbor.  The  Dolly  informed  him  that  this 
was  her  very  first  appearance  at  a  dinner-party;  that  she 
could  hardly  conceive  how  she  had  been  permitted  to  enjoy 
such  an  exquisite  pleasure  by  her  father  and  mother,  and 
she  was  vastly  obliged  to  them  ;  that  at  first  she  had  found  she 
must  acknowledge  the  best  parlor  odious,  and  wished  herself 
at  home ;  but  now,  every  thing  being  changed,  she  should 
like  to  remain  until  midnight.  That  this  was  a  very  natural 
young  lady  the  gentleman  soon  perceived,  but  he  entertained 
rather  a  decided  prejudice  for  her  class,  there  being  so  many 


OF    BOSTON.  237 

little  men  and  women  about.  It  was  indeed  refreshing  to 
meet  with  a  child,  though  rather  a  tall  one ;  so  he  asked  her 
many  questions  and  received  satisfactory  answers,  enlighten- 
ing him  with  her  own  little  history.  The  Dolly  was  enchanted 
with  her  companion ;  for  he  did  not  regard  skating  in  the 
court-yard  a  sin,  any  more  than  the  proprietorship  of  a 
sled,  and  most  particularly  liked  dogs,  though  he  did  not 
equally  affect  kittens. 

Mr.  Naseby  sat  next  to  Miss  Georgy  Barclay,  and  mis- 
taking her  as  usual  for  her  sister.  Miss  Grace,  whispered 
in  her  ears  all  manner  of  soft  nothings,  in  his  would-be 
mellifluous  tones ;  she,  adhering  to  the  old  fashion  of  never 
disabusing  her  sister's  devoted  swain.  There  seemed  no  end 
to  the  blunders  he  committed.  He  invited  Mrs.  Gordon  to 
drink  wine  with  him,  calling  her,  in  the  most  pointed  manner, 
Mrs.  Ashley,  of  which  mistake  the  lady  mischievously  made 
him  cognisant ;  he  then  upset  a  glass  of  claret  over  Miss 
Georgy's  dress,  which,  not  being  white  book-muslin,  was 
irreparable.  Then,  in  endeavoring  ineffectually  to  remove 
this  injury,  he  dropped  his  napkin,  and,  in  reaching  for  it, 
tipped  over  and  lost  his  eye-glass.  These  little  playful 
occurrences  rather  diverted  his  attention,  for  a  time,  from 
the  suppositious  ladye-love  at  his  side ;  but  he  shortly  over- 
came these  misadventures,  and  returned  to  the  charge  with 
renewed  vigor.  Gerald  sat  opposite  to  Georgy  Barclay, 
and  contented  himself  with  looking  at  her  whenever  he 
thought  she  did  not  perceive  him.  He  had  been  invited  to 
meet  his  friends  very  unexpectedly,  and  gladly  availed  him- 
self of  the  permission,  and  also  made  himself  generally 
agreeable. 

The  grand  dinner  was  very  successful ;  a  pleasant  flow 
of  chat  and  thought  pervaded  it.  Mr.  Egerton  was,  assur- 
edly, not  a  person  to  give  an  impetus  to  pleasurable  things, 
but  he  really  did  make  astounding  efforts  at  unbending  and 
unstarching  upon  this  occasion.  With  the  fruit  appeared 
the  host's  invaluable  specimens  of  porcelain.     Mrs.  Barclay, 


238 


THE    BARCLAYS 


examiaing  her  plate,  said,  '  I  never  comprehended  the  great 
value  of  this  china  until  I  went  to  Europe.  We  are  all 
surrounded,  in  this  country,  by  such  quantities  of  the  mate- 
rial, and,  accustomed  to  see  it  from  our  childhood,  we 
really  do  not  appreciate  it  as  we  should,  until  we  behold 
what  a  value  is  set  upon  it  across  the  water.' 

'  Women  are  china-fanciers  ever,'  said  Mr.  Barclay,  '  and 
mistress  of  herself  when  china  falls,  has  been  poetically 
stated  to  be  the  highest  point  of  excellence  in  your  sex.' 

'  Yes,'  she  replied,  '  by  a  bachelor,  but  you  surely  remem- 
ber the  tiny  cup  and  saucer  which  I  showed  you  in  Dresden, 
where  it  had  just  been  sold  for  five-and-twenty  dollars.  I 
began  then  to  think  myself  very  rich,  with  a  couple  of 
dozen.' 

Mr.  Richard  Barclay  interposed  to  declare,  '  There  was 
no  comparison  between  the  French  and  Chinese,  the  former 
being  incomparably  superior.'  This  leading  to  a  discussion 
on  the  different  degrees  of  excellence  of  various  countries 
in  the  article,  Mr.  Rosevelt  and  Mr.  Meredith  slipped  in, 
agreeably  enough,  many  interesting  anecdotes.  I\Ir.  ^Icre- 
dith  laughed  heartily  when  the  Dolly,  totally  forgetting 
his  clerical  position,  invited  him,  jestingly,  to  conceal  a 
remarkable  bit  in  his  pocket  for  her,  declaring,  that  when 
a  little  child,  half  her  pleasure  in  having  a  nice  thing,  con- 
sisted in  stowing  it  away  in  a  receptacle  of  the  same  sort. 
3Irs.  Ashley,  seated  on  the  left  hand  of  Mr.  Egerton,  was 
gay  and  chatty,  and  Mrs.  Sanderson  seemed  almost  to  recall 
the  days  of  her  past  happiness  in  such  engaging  and  con- 
genial society. 

A  dinner-party  is  either  insufferably  stupid  or  very  agree- 
able, there  is  no  medium  ;  a  chance  discussion,  light  and 
flowing,  like  the  one  related,  often  breaks  the  ice,  and,  set- 
ting all  tongues  in  motion,  leads  to  other  things  of  more 
importance.  Mr.  Egerton's  china  eifected  this  pleasant 
purpose,  and  his  guests  enjoyed  themselves  exceedingly. 
When  the  ladies  retired  their  host  arose,  and  in  his  grandest 


OF     BOSTON.  ,  239 

and  most  imposing  manner,  bowed  them  out  of  the  dining- 
room,  and  then  Mrs.  Sanderson  invited  them  into  her  own 
apartments. 

On  entering  her  sitting-room,  Mrs.  Ashley  —  who  had 
dreaded  '  the  best  parlor'  quite  as  much  as  the  Dolly  —  hav- 
ing established  herself  in  a  comfortable  lounge,  exclaimed, 
'  What  a  charming  room  !  home  is  written  all  over  it  in 
golden  characters  —  books,  music,  drawing,  flowers  and 
knicknackeries,  and  then  so  quiet  and  retired  !  I  absolutely 
adore  these  old  houses,  they  are  so  large  and  commodious ; 
my  own  little  dwelling  seems  quite  a  wren-box.' 

'  Had  you  not  better  compare  it  to  a  musical  box,  dear 
Mrs.  Ashley  ? '  said  Grace. 

'  You're  a  flatterer  ! '  answered  the  lady. 

'  Ah  ! '  said  Mrs.  Sanderson,  '  the  old  house  is  but  an 
heir-loom,  and  melancholy  enough  has  it  been  to  me  these 
latter  years.  Were  it  not  for  this  part  of  it,  I  know  not 
what  I  should  have  done,  or  my  dear  children  either.' 

'  These  rooms  must  have  been  a  resource,'  said  Mrs. 
Gordon,  '  for,  to  speak  frankly,  the  rest  is  gloomy  enough  ; 
we  have  had  a  gay  dinner  to-day,  but  generally,  I  should 
imagine,  you  would  find  it,  Mrs.  Sanderson,  a  little  bit  dull.' 

'  Most  truly  do  I  find  it  gloomy,'  replied  the  lady. 

'  What  a  beautiful  dress  you  have  on,  Mrs.  Sanderson,' 
said  the  Dolly,  '  it's  almost  as  handsome  as  a  brocade  I  saw 
the  other  day.' 

'It  is,  indeed,'  said  her  mother,  'and  recalls  to  my  mind 
a  modern  Italian  picture  of  great  merit,  in  Florence,  of 
Tasso  reading  to  Leonore  his  own  poems.  The  princess 
wears  a  dress  of  emerald  green,  and  I  was  so  enamored 
of  it  that  I  resolved  to  purchase  one  exactly  similar,  when, 
suddenly,  I  recollected  my  unlucky  complexion,  and  that  — 
like  the  milkmaid,  in  the  story-book  —  green  would  be 
positively  unbecoming  to  me.  Now,  for  you,  Mrs.  San- 
derson, the  hue  is  charming.' 

'  This  reminds  me   of  an  anecdote  about  myself,'  said 


240  THE    BARCLAYS 

Mrs.  Ashley.  *  I  happened  to  tell  a  young  lady,  one  day, 
that  on  seeing  a  new  fashion,  for  the  first  time,  I  could 
generally  trace  it  to  some  picture  of  the  old  masters  I  had 
beheld  abroad,  so  she  reported,  that  Mrs.  Ashley  said  she 
always  dressed  herself  after  all  the  old  pictures.  Heaven 
help  me,  how  I  should  look !  But  I  shall  assuredly  never 
forget  my  first  visit  to  the  Borghese  Palace  in  Rome,  when, 
being  accompanied  by  a  very  handsome  young  man,  and  a 
most  prim  and  antiquated  damsel  from  our  Quaker  city  of 
Philadelphia,  we  suddenly  found  ourselves  in  a  small  room, 
containing  fourteen  Venuses,  in  Mount  Olympus  disarray, 
all  having  been  entirely  oblivious  of  sublunary  garments  — 
save  one  —  and  she  had  donned,  for  the  occasion,  a  Spanish 
hat  and  feathers.  You  may  well  imagine  that  we  beat  a 
speedy  retreat.  My  ancient  friend's  steps  were  very  zig- 
zaggish,  indeed.  She  came  extremely  near  unto  fainting, 
and  solemnly  entreated,  that  no  "pretty  young  fellows" 
might  ever  again  accompany  us  in  our  explorations.' 

'  My  husband,'  said  Mrs.  Sanderson,  '  had  an  English 
friend,  who  would  never  accept  a  story  —  however  good  it 
it  might  be  —  singly.  He  persisted  in  receiving  pairs  of  — 
ear-rings,  he  called  them.  Now,  I  think  I  can  give  you  a 
pendant,  Mrs.  Ashley,  for  your  young  Miss,  with  her  pecu- 
liar ideas  of  costume.  Mrs.  Reginald  Gardiner,  whom  you 
know,  was  one  day  very  politely  asked,  how  she  could 
wear  pink  ribbons,  at  her  advanced  time  of  life,  (Amer- 
ican fashion;)  and  she  very  prettily  replied,  "I  have  an 
old  apple-tree  in  my  'wee  bit  garden'  in  New  York, 
which  puts  forth  pink  blossoms  every  revolving  year,  and 
I  shall  wear  my  cap-trimmings  of  those  roseate  colors, 
just  so  long  as  my  dear  old  tree  continues  to  bloom."  A 
few  days  afterwards  comes  a  lady  to  Mrs.  Gardiner,  and 
says,  "  Oh  !  I  heard  such  a  charming  speech  of  yours." 
"  Pray  what  was  it  ?  "  "  Oh  !  1  heard  you  said  you  had  an 
old  apple-tree  in  your  garden,  and  had  all  your  caps 
made  precisely  like  it." ' 


OF    BOSTON.  241 

Mrs.  Sanderson,  in  showing  some  rare  gems,  led  the 
ladies  to  speak  of  diamonds,  when  Mrs.  Barclay  jestingly- 
declared  she  never  wished  to  wear  less  than  fifty  thousand 
dollars'  worth. 

'  Very  modest  indeed  in  your  pretensions  ! '  said  Mrs. 
Ashley. 

'  You  may  laugh,  if  you  please,'  said  Mrs.  Barclay, 
*  but  I  assure  you,  nothing  looks  so  mean  to  me  as  a  few 
diamonds.  I  saw  women  in  Europe  wearing  diamonds  to 
the  amount  of  half  a  million  of  dollars,  who  did  not  seem 
to  be  overloaded  ;  other  precious  stones  in  the  same  quan- 
tity would  be  perfectly  frightful.  Jesting  apart,  however, 
and  always  excepting  heir-looms,  I  think  the  spending  of 
money  in  such  things,  in  our  country,  every  way  absurd. 
I  like  harmony  in  arrangements,  domestic  and  otherwise, 
and  think  the  unhies  should  be  preserved ;  and  confess  it 
would  grieve  me  excessively,  to  be  obliged  to  take  off  ten 
thousand  dollars'  worth  of  diamonds,  and  descend  into  my 
Plutonian  regipn  —  the  kitchen  —  to  lard  a  partridge,  and 
compound  a  Bavarian  cream  —  which  many  a  time  and  oft 
I  have  been  obliged  to  do,  in  the  interregnum  created  by 
the  sudden  and  causeless  outgoing  of  one  high  and  contend- 
tending  priestess  of  the  culinary  art,  and  the  incoming  of 
another.' 

-'A  crabbed  old  man,'  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  'once  told  me 
that  our  women,  when  they  congregated  together,  never 
talked  of  any  thing  but  dress  and  servants ;  so,  fortunately, 
here  come  the  gentlemen  to  their  tea.' 

They  entered,  and  music  —  in  which  Mrs.  Sanderson 
joined  —  inviting  Grace  Barclay  to  preside  at  the  tea-table, 
in  her  stead,  whiled  away  the  time  until  Peter,  with  a  sublime 
bow,  which,  on  that  occasion,  was  not  lost  for  lack  of  light, 
announced  the  carriages;  and  thus  ended  Mr.  Philip  Eger- 
ton's  grand  dinner. 

21 


242 


THE    BARCLAYS 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


•  What  call'st  thou  solitude  ?     Is  not  the  earth, 
With  various  living  creatures  of  the  air, 
Replenish'd,  and  all  those  at  thy  command, 
To  come  and  play  before  thee  r ' 

IMlLTOX. 

The  evening  succeeding  Mr.  Egerton's  dinner  Mrs.  Ashley 
came,  as  she  declared,  to  talk  it  over.  iMr.  Rosevelt  and 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Meredith  both  presented  themselves,  and  also 
Mrs.  Gordon  and  her  daughter.  They  v/cre  all  professing 
the  pleasure  they  had  enjoyed  in  their  visit  to  the  bachelor, 
when  Miss  Tidmarsh  and  Miss  Redmond  joined  the  circle. 
These  two  ladies  had  heard  of  the  unwonted  proceedings  at 
'the  old  miser's,'  —  things  are  circulated  rapidly  in  Boston, 
—  and  the  two  damsels  were  dying  of  curiosity  to  know  if 
Mr.  Egerton's  guests  had  actually  seen  any  edibles  at  all; 
a  question  they  had  permitted  themselves  to  moot  in  various 
places.  And  they  were  really  made  very  uncomfortable, 
for  the  Dolly  had  intense  satisfaction,  which  she  openly 
avowed,  in  making  them  almost  expire  of  envy  at  not  having 
been  present,  and  filled  their  unwilling  ears  with  an  entire 
and  complete  description  of  the  glories  of  the  plate,  the 
splendor  of  the  porcelain,  and  the  super-excellence  of  the 
dinner,  and  gaiety  of  the  party.  ^liss  Serena,  not  being 
able  to  contradict  this  statement  in  the  presence  of  so  many 
eye-witnesses,  responded  with  rather  incredulous  ohs  and 
ahs.  (letting  weary  of  hearing  praises  bestowed,  —  lauda- 
tions of  any  kind  being  positivclv  hateful  to  her,  —  she 
turned  lier  attention  to  the  gentlemen,  or,  as  she  was  pleased 


OF    BOSTON.  243 

to  call  them,  the  beaux.  Now  if  it  had  not  been  for  the 
chance  of  seeing  those  beaux,  she  would  never  have  crossed 
the  threshold  of  Mrs.  Barclay's  doors. 

The  gentlemen  were  very  ungrateful,  not  paying  any 
regard  to  her  amiable  advances,  or  evincing  any  admiration 
of  her  bare  and  knobbed  shoulders.  Miss  Serena  always 
looked  like  a  person  pinched  with  the  cold,  and  that  evening 
more  than  ever ;  and  if  she  wore  this  guise  at  the  Barclays, 
who  were  noted  for  the  warmth  of  their  dwelling,  how  did 
Miss  Serena  appear  in  cooler  latitudes  ?  It  afterwards 
transpired,  through  Clara  Gordon,  that  Mr.  Rosevelt  had 
asked  her  this  same  question.  Nothing  abashed  by  her 
total  want  of  success,  Miss  Serena  changed  her  scat,  and 
entered  into  conversation,  if  the  bald  and  disjointed  sentences 
she  uttered  could  be  so  denominated,  with  Miss  Gordon  ; 
thereby  interrupting  a  degree  of  intercourse  between  her 
and  Mr.  Rosevelt,  which  appeared  to  her  to  be  altogether 
too  interesting  to  the  parties.  This  was  a  plan  the  amiable 
Serena  invariably  adopted  and  thoroughly  enjoyed,  being 
one  too  many,  a  thing  all  the  world  exceedingly  dreads  and 
avoids. 

Finding  she  made  no  impression  on  the  handsome  young 
naval  oflicer,  she  moved  towards  Mrs.  Barclay,  and  began 
informing  her  she  thought  it  extremely  probable  that  Mr. 
Naseby  was  about  to  be  engaged  to  Jane  Redmond,  and 
inquired  what  she  thought  of  the  match.  Mrs.  Barclay 
answered,  she  was  always  glad  to  liear  of  happiness  any 
where,  and  of  matrimonial  engagements  when  they  were 
officially  announced,  but  permitted  herself  to  give  no  opin- 
ions whatever  upon  mere  conjectural  reports.  Which  answer 
Miss  Tidmarsh  translated,  after  her  own  peculiar  fashion,  to 
mean,  that  the  lady  was  very  angry  at  the  report,  hoping 
to  secure  Mr.  Naseby  for  one  of  her  own  daughters,  and 
bored  every  one  she  met  with  her  own  malicious  construc- 
tions. Georgy  and  Grace  never  very  well  knew  what  to 
do  with  Jane  Redmond,  for  she  regularly  contradicted  all 


24  THE    BARCLAYS 

their  assertions,  however  incontrovertible  they  might  be ; 
and  as  she  was  older  than  they,  she  regarded  them  in  a 
remarkably  inferior  light,  and  took  no  pains  whatever  to 
conceal  her  opinions.  They  generally  proposed  music  as  a 
safety-valve,  and,  as  she  played  well  and  liked  to  be  invited, 
they  contrived  to  get  on  smoothly.  They  sometimes  did  wish, 
it  must  be  avowed,  that  Miss  Redmond  had  not  the  right  to 
come  and  go  at  her  pleasure  in  their  father's  house,  but  a 
friendship  of  long  standing  had  existed  between  Mr.  Barclay 
and  Mr.  Redmond,  who,  however  he  might  forget  the  rest 
of  his  friends  and  acquaintances,  never  neglected  his  college 
chum.  Mrs.  Barclay  had  long  desired  to  renounce  all  but 
formal  intercourse  with  her  two  neighbors,  and  would  have 
done  so,  but  for  the  other  members  of  their  respective 
families,  and  was  glad  to  find  that  her  daughters  liked 
neither  Jane  or  Serena  any  better  than  she  did  herself. 
When  the  music  was  finished,  the  twain,  having  drank  a 
cup  of  tea  each,  and  seasoned  them  with  a  little  scandal, 
retired,  leaving  behind  them,  as  usual,  a  disagreeable  im- 
pression. 

It  being  just  then  the  moment,  there  was  always  a  myste- 
rious signal  given  to  the  Dolly  by  Nursey  Bristow  that  her 
hour  had  arrived  to  depart,  she  made  her  salutations  and 
left  the  room.  A  second  ensued,  when  she  re-appeared, 
having  jerked  her  shoulders  entirely  out  of  her  frock,  and 
brought  her  long  hair  into  precisely  the  fashion  of  Miss 
Tidmarsh's  head  gear;  she  sailed  into  the  room,  dipping 
and  bowing,  and  then  curtseyed  herself  out  backwards,  in 
Miss  Serena's  best  style.  So  perfect  was  the  imitation,  that 
every  one  was  convulsed  with  laughter,  except  her  mother, 
who  never  encouraged  any  of  these  proceedings. 

'  She  is  perfectly  incorrigible,'  said  Mrs.  Barclay. 

'  Impossible  not  to  laugh,'  cried  Mr.  Richard,  '  I  wonder 
how  you  can  look  so  grave,  Catherine.' 

But  the  lad}^  addressed  looked  graver  still,  and  the  Dolly 
was  well  lectured  the  next  morning ;    but,  somehow,  though 


OF    BOSTON.  245 

she  prpfessed  to  be  sorry  for  her  misdemeanors,  and  really 
was,  she  was  constantly  in  the  habit  of  commencing  a  fresh 
score. 

'  Surely,'  said  Mrs.  Barclay  to  her  husband  when  their 
guests  had  departed,  '  I  have  been  spoiled  by  Georgy  and 
Grace,  for  Kate  gives  me  more  trouble  in  one  week,  than 
they  ever  did  in  their  natural  lives,  in  these  small  matters. 
I  wish,  John,  you  would  not  laugh  at  her,  she  is  greatly 
encouraged  by  your  mirth.' 

'  How  can  I  help  it  ? '  replied  Mr.  Barclay,  laughingly, 
'  the  imitation  was  so  perfect.' 

'Ah! '  said  his  wife,  'you  will  spoil  that  child,  John.' 

'  Girls  bear  spoiling  remarkably  well,'  answered  he. 

The  next  evening  Mrs.  Sanderson  and  Gerald  made  their 
appearance.  This  was  her  first  visit,  and  she  had  preferred 
to  make  it  informal,  rather  than  ceremonious.  She  came, 
she  said,  to  thank  them  for  their  kindness  in  honoring  the 
old  house  with  their  cheering  and  agreeable  presence,  and 
she  also  brought  her  brother's  acknowledgments,  who,  but 
for  a  cold,  would  have  presented  them  himself. 

!\rrs.  Sanderson  was  greeted  with  great  cordiality,  and 
before  the  evening  was  half  finished,  she  had  lamented  she 
had  not  paid  this  visit  years  before.  Georgy  and  Grace 
conducted  her  into  the  conservatory,  and,  once  there,  en- 
joyed a  charming  chat  respecting  their  mutual  favorites,  the 
flowers  and  birds.  She  was  much  delighted  with  the  taste 
displayed  in  the  arrangements,  and  afterwards  joined  them 
in  duets  and  some  concerted  pieces  of  music,  and  played 
admirably. 

Mr.  Richard  was  extremely  attentive  and  courteous  to  her, 
and  Gerald  followed  all  their  movements  with  his  eyes. 
What  contentment  did  he  not  experience  in  beholding  his 
beloved  mother  once  more  entering  into  a  little  society,  and 
communing  with  kindred  spirits  !  Hopeless  as  was  his  own 
case,  and  wretched  as  he  must  ever  be,  for  thus  youth 
always  exaggerates,  he  still  could  feel  great  interest  in  his 
21* 


246  THE     BARCLAYS 

parent's  welfare,  and  was  overjoyed  that  a  prospect  of  change 
and  variety  was  opening  to  her  in  an  intercourse  with  this 
charming  family.  Gerald  had,  since  the  abandonment  of 
the  dream-land  in  which  he  had  been  enthralled,  experi- 
enced many  unpleasant  hours,  in  addition  to  his  other 
perplexities,  on  the  subject  of  his  mother's  total  seclusion. 
Mrs.  Sanderson  was  a  great  reader,  it  was  true,  and  she 
also  possessed  many  accomplishments,  but  there  is  nothing 
like  a  collision  with  one's  fellows,  to  rub  off  the  dust  collect- 
ed in  the  brain  by  solitude  and  clear  away  its  cobwebs.  We 
are  too  prone  to  overrate  our  own  individual  importance 
when  we  live  alone,  to  magnify  the  value  of  our  own  opinions, 
and  also  to  think  ill  of  a  world  into  which  we  never  enter. 

Gerald  Sanderson  had  eaten  of  this  bitter  fruit,  in  his 
early  seclusion :  his  own  soul  was  filled  with  poignant  re- 
morse, that,  but  for  his  own  insane  folly,  the  woman  he 
adored  might  have  been  spared  a  life  of  misery'.  He 
beheld  her  battling  with  her  destiny,  and  bearing,  with  a 
martyr's  fortitude,  her  cross,  while,  again  and  again,  he 
reiterated,  in  agonized  despair,  —  'This,  this  is  my  work.' 
These  sad  reflections  made  him  all  the  more  anxious  that  his 
mother,  now  that  her  sons  were  unavoidably  separated  from 
her  by  their  occupations  and  pursuits,  should  graduallv  be 
alienated  from  her  recluse  habits  of  existence,  and  he  hailed 
with  delight  the  vista  of  a  pleasant  social  life  now  pre- 
sented. 

Zimmermann  has  written  a  thick  volume  on  the  charms  of 
solitude,  and  has  finished  by  avowing  and  confessing  that  we 
must  all  have  some  one  person  to  whom  w-e  can  exclaim. 
How  charming  is  this  solitude  !  An  old  author  has  said, 
quaintly  enough,  '  The  mind  requires  dusting,  and,  as  this  is 
a  process  we  are  not  inclined  to  perform  ourselves,  it  must 
naturally  enough  be  done  by  others.'  The  world  is  a  much 
better  place  than  its  scorncrs  imagine,  who,  peeping  out 
from  the  loop-holes  of  their  disagreable  retreats,  scowl  and 
rail  at  its  inhabitants,  and  covering  them  with  the   panoply 


OF    BOSTON.  247 

of  their  own  virtuous  indignation,  bedeck  them  with  all 
imaginable  and  unimaginable  vices.  That  we  are  not  wholly 
good,  or  wholly  bad,  is  most  true,  unmitigated  villains  being 
rare.  It  assuredly  behooves  these  patterns  of  excellence, 
who  believe  they  possess  all  '  the  cakes  and  ale '  to  come 
forth  and  suffer  themselves  to  be  admired,  as,  at  present, 
they  are  hardly  even  desired. 

It  is  pretty  well  conceded  now,  that,  to  do  good  and  effect 
beneficial  reforms,  pleasant  faces  and  cheerful  voices  are 
required;  the  reign  of  the  sour-visaged  and  dingy  saints  has 
passed  away,  and  forever ;  the  present  generation  must  be 
lured  into  straight-forward  paths,  not  coerced  and  driven. 
The  modern  brothers  and  sisters  of  charity  must  don  no 
conventional  and  gloomy  garb; "they  must  insinuate  them- 
selves in  cheerful  garments,  into  the  hearts  and  souls  of 
their  converts,  bit  by  bit ;  long  homilies  are  out  of  the  ques- 
tion ;  no  one,  in  our  ever  curiously  busy  land,  having  time 
to  listen  to  a  second  chapter,  not  to  even  mention,  a  forty- 
ninth. 

Many  of  the  people,  most  inclined  to  do  good,  commit 
the  grand  mistake  of  forgetting  that  a  mighty  page  has 
been  turned  over  in  this  last  century  and  added  to  the  great 
volume  of  the  universe,  and  that  gentler  handling  is  requir- 
ed. To  those  who  have  looked  on,  and  added  their  own 
small  mite  to  the  general  welfare,  this  has  become  a  self- 
evident  fact.  In  these  times  children  are  made  to  do  many 
pleasant  things,  not  precisely  duties,  by  cheerful  precepts 
and  examples  which  were  unknown  to  our  rigid  forefathers. 
A  milder  and  more  genial  race  has  succeeded  to  a  sterner 
one,  but  there  is  yet  much  to  be  done.  All  duties  should 
be  rationally  enforced,  but  the  pleasant  amenities  of  life 
may  be  very  much  cultivated  in  a  cheerful  atmosphere. 
The  children  of  the  poor,  particularly,  maybe  taught  'to  look 
through  nature  up  to  nature's  God,'  and  allowed  occasional 
glimpses  of  the  beautiful  things  which  He  has  provided 
for  mankind,  with  great  advantage  to  themselves  and  the 


248  THE    BAHCLAYS 

rich;  thereby  bringing  them  together  in  closer  bonds,  and 
breaking  down  the  iron  barriers  which  separate  them. 

On  becoming  more  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Sanderson,  Mrs. 
Barchiy  counselled  her  to  interest  herself  in  some  of  the 
charitable  institutions  with  which  Boston  abounds  ;  she  being 
a  person  who  required  to  be  aroused,  and  to  have  other 
thoughts  directed  into  useful  channels,  and  for  these, 
societies  are  great  blessings.  The  lady,  agreeing  with  her 
adviser,  promptly  set  herself  to  work,  and  became  thereby 
obligated  to  bestir  herself,  and  was  consequently  much 
happier  than  she  had  ever  been.  She  found  these  institutions 
demanded  both  care  and  much  time,  and  she  was  induced 
to  devote  a  portion  of  her  leisure  to  them.  These  things 
also  brought  her  into  connection  with  many  deserving  per- 
sons, whom  she  had  not  before  known,  and  extended  her 
several  relations  and  sympathies. 

Gerald  encouraged  his  mother  in  all  her  little  plans  and 
projects,  and  even  persuaded  her  into  an  excursion  to  New 
York,  and  once  there,  she  went  on  to  Washington.  The 
preparations  for  this  expedition  exceeded,  by  far,  any 
arrangements  for  an  expedition  to  Nova  Zcmbla,  and  Mrs. 
Sanderson  could  hardly  forbear  laughing  heartily  at  her  own 
luggage  and  its  multifarious  variety  of  articles.  But  having 
once  perpetrated  a  journey,  and  returned  home  in  comfort 
and  security,  she  began  to  think  it  was  not  such  an  arduous 
undertaking  as  she  had  imagined. 


OF    BOSTON.  249 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


'  One  glance  from  lier  my  soul  loves  best, 
In  the  soft  grace  of  beauty  drest, 
I  Avould  not  change  and  wish  to  live, 
For  all  this  boasted  world  can  give.' 

Iglesias  de  la  Casa. 

Mr.  Barclay  had  been  gratified  at  receiving  in  his  house 
the  young  clergyman,  Mr.  Meredhh,  whom  he  had  met  at 
Mr.  Egerton's,  having  heard  an  excellent  report  of  him  from 
several  mutual  friends,  and  finding  him  pleasing  and  genial. 
He  invited  him  to  join,  whenever  it  suited  his  pleasure,  his 
family  circle  ;  he  also  asked  Mr.  Rosevelt,  Mr.  Barclay, 
having  a  partiality  for  the  navy,  and  thinking  a  gentlemanly 
sailor  a  rather  fascinating  sort  of  person.  He  was  always 
inclined  to  receive  him  hospitably,  and  ever  admired  his 
straight- forward,  frank  and  loyal  nature,  as  well  as  his  gen- 
erosity. To  be  sure,  he  sometimes  smiled  at  his  suscepti- 
bility and  childlike  simplicity  respecting  womankind  —  angels 
all,  as  he  religiously  believes  them  to  be  —  and  sometimes 
sympathized  with  him  in  his  disappointments. 

Mr.  Rosevelt  seemed  fated  to  follow  in  the  footsteps  of 
his  impressible  class,  for  he  fell  desperately  in  love  at 
first  sight  with  Clara  Gordon,  Sailors  are  all  Romeos,  very 
Shaksperian.  In  this  case,  the  gentleman  rover  found  a 
Juliet,  for  that  young  lady  romantically  responded  to  his 
passion,  and,  moreover,  fancied  she  had  done  a  very  wise 
thing ;  thus  the  sea  swallowed  up  the  '  American  Methuse- 
leh.'      It  was  not  more  than  a  month,  or  less  than  a  week, 


250  THE    BARCLAYS 

after  their  first  meeting,  that  the  enamored  Lieutenant 
poured  forth  the  tale  of  his  love  at  his  lady's  feet,  and  that 
she  confessed  her  perfect  willingness  to  share  his  destiny. 

When  this  important  intelligence  was  announced  at  home, 
it  met  with  a  very  decided  opposition  from  lier  parents. 
They  could  not  at  all  consent  to  part  with  their  only  daugh- 
ter, to  become  for  the  rest  of  her  days  a  wanderer  on  the 
face  of  the  globe  ;  then  they  objected  to  the  long,  irremedi- 
able absences  which  an  officer's  wife  must  endure,  the  sep- 
arations so  difficult  to  bear,  and,  in  fact,  both  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Gordon  smiled  not  upon  the  pretender  to  the  favor  of  their 
daughter.  Clara  Gordon  flew  in  utter  despair  to  Mrs.  Bar- 
clay, and  begged  and  conjured  her  to  intercede  and  pray  for 
the  consent  of  her  parents.  Mrs.  Barclay  counselled  her 
young  friend  to  wait  a  year,  and  then,  if  she  were  of  '  the 
same  opinion  still,'  it  might  possibly  be  obtained,  they  being 
shocked  by  the  !?uddenness  of  the  whole  thing.  But  Clara 
declared  her  lover  would  hear  of  no  such  dilatory  proceed- 
ings ;  that  he  would  be  unutterably  wretched,  and  thought 
he  should  never  survive  a  refusal  ;  and  that  she  herself  was 
miserable.  After  an  interview  with  the  lover,  Mrs.  Barclay, 
finding  all  reasoning  out  of  the  question,  and  both  parties 
being  in  a  most  despairing  state,  and  happening  to  be  ac- 
quainted with  the  gentleman's  family,  which  was  an  excel- 
lent Southern  one,  and  knowing  that  he  had  a  small  private 
property  and  good  expectations,  and  having  learned  the 
most  important  part,  that  his  character  was  excellent,  she 
concluded  to  try  and  do  something  for  the  unhappy  pair. 

So  Mrs.  Barclay  saw  ]\Irs.  Gordon,  and  smoothing  away 
many  difficulties,  and  making  her  friend  and  her  husband 
cognizant  of  many  pleasant  facts  which  she  had,  moreover, 
gathered  from  the  Commodore  of  the  station,  —  undoubted 
authority,  —  she  managed  to  bring  round  the  Gordons,  and 
they  bestowed  their  consent  to  the  union  of  the  pair,  and,  as 
they  said  and  llrmly  believed,  they  were  made  supremely 
happy.     Clara  nearly  smothered  her  friend  with  kisses,  and 


OF    BOSTON. 


251 


her  sailor  lover  looked  as  if  he  would  also  like  to  do  the 
same  thing. 

Then  came  all  the  busy  note  of  preparation  for  the  wed- 
ding. Grace  Barclay  was  invited  to  be  first  bridesmaid, and 
a  handsome  young  officer  was  first  bridesman,  and,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  became  enslaved  by  the  superlative 
charms  of  his  associate,  though  he  was  not  so  fortunate  as 
his  friend,  Mr.  Rosevelt.  In  a  marvellously  short  period, 
almost  beyond  belief,  had  he  belonged  to  any  other  profes- 
sion. Miss  Grace  Barclay  received  her  first  offer  of  mar- 
riao-e  —  a  most  momentous  occurrence  in  a  young  girl's  life, 
—  smiles  she,  or  frowns  she,  —  and  this  offer  the  damsel 
becomingly  refused,  but  in  such  a  gentle  manner  that  the 
rejected  suitor  continued  to  be  her  fast  friend.  It  must  be 
confessed,  however,  that,  notwithstanding  his  despair  and 
tribulation,  he  lost  his  heart  again  the  very  next  year,  and 
Gracy  heard  of  his  nuptials  with  intense  satisfaction ;  for 
she,  in  her  youthful  simplicit}',  had  felt  very  sad  at  witness- 
in""  his  sorrow,  and  almost  imagined  he  might  succumb 
under  its  weight ;  but  he  had  lived  on,  and  she  was  greatly 
relieved  of  her  anxiety. 

But  to  return  from  this  short  and  hurried  digression,  very 
indicative  of  salt  water.  Miss  (rordon  was  married  in  church, 
the  bridegroom  in  full  uniform,  looking  admirably.  The 
bride  was  attired  in  a  pure  white  silk  high-necked  dress,  and 
a  bewitching  French  hat,  filled  with  orange  blossoms,  and 
such  a  veil!  —  a  present  from  Mrs.  Barclay,  —  it  nearly  cov- 
ered her  whole  person.  The  bridesmaids  were  charming, 
thouf^h,  of  course,  they  are  never  permitted  to  eclipse  the 
bride,  and  the  church  was  filled  to  repletion  with  young 
persons  ;  and  the  Dolly  thought  the  whole  thing  went  ofT 
admirablv,  and  was  capital  fun,  as  she  privately  informed 
iSursey  Bristow.  And  most  especially  did  she  incline  to 
Mrs.  Nichols'  delicious  wedding-cake,  her  veiy  best  handi- 
work, of  which  she  had  a  portion  passed  through  the  bride's 
ring,  and  pinned  up  in  white  paper  with  the  bride's  pins  ; 


252  THE    BARCLAYS 

and  this  arrangement  being  effected,  the  little  parcel  was 
placed  carefully  under  her  pillow,  and  she  dreamed  '  never 
a  bit  of  any  body  or  any  thing,'  she  said,  and  added,  half 
crying,  '  that  this  was  very  provoking  indeed.'  The  happy 
couple,  after  a  charming  breakfast,  departed  on  a  visit  to 
Mr.  Rosevelt's  family,  and  to  the  Barclay's,  who  had  been 
kept  in  a  perpetual  state  of  excitement  for  a  month,  the 
whole  of  this  engagement  and  bridal  seemed  like  the  em- 
bodiment of  a  dream. 

Georgy  and  Grace  deplored  Clara's  departure  bitterly, 
and  the  Dolly  thought  every  thing  vastly  dull.  Mr.  Richard 
pronounced  the  Gordons  to  be  fools  for  consenting  to  such 
hurried  doings.  Miss  Serena  Tidmarsh  opined  no  good 
would  ever  come  of  this  hurried  marriage ;  and  Jane 
Redmond  said,  '  Who  would  have  imagined  that  any  girl 
could  find  a  husband  at  Philip  Egcrton's  ? '  Mr.  Barclay 
roundly  asserted  that  his  young  friend  had  made  a  good 
match,  and  that  all  would  agree  with  him  in  time  ;  but  then 
Mr.  Richard  said,  his  brother  John  had  always  a  weakness 
for  'the  buttons,'  and  his  opinion  did  not  carry  as  much 
weight  as  usual,  on  this  occasion.  Mr.  Richard  Barclay 
never  heard  of  marrying,  or  giving  in  marriage,  with  any 
great  degree  of  equanimity  ;  he  generally  snarled  more  or 
less  on  such  occasions.  Mrs.  Ashley  said,  '  All's  well  that 
ends  well,'  and  '  Wc  must  wait,  for  this  whole  thing  has 
been  carried  through  in  such  a  hurry-scurry,  that  I  have 
not  had  time  to  breathe,  and,  besides,  I  am  very  sorry  to 
lose  Clara,  and  cannot  be  expected  to  give  my  unqualified 
consent.'  So  they  all  said  their  say,  but,  as  Mrs.  Barclay 
quietly  observed,  '  the  subject  of  these  remarks  was  "  mar- 
ried and  awa', "  and  all  they  could  do  or  say  would  not 
alter  her  condition.' 

The  bride  and  bridegroom  returned,  after  a  month's 
absence,  having  had  a  delightful  warm-hearted  Southern 
reception,  and  intended  remaining  a  few  weeks  with  Mrs. 
Gordon,  preparatory  to  their  going  to  Norfolk,  where  he 
was  ordered. 


OF    BOSTON.  253 

Shortly  after  their  return,  the  wife  of  the  Commodore  of 
the  station  issued  invitations  for  a  ball  on  board  a  seventy- 
four  in  the  harbor,  and  the  Gordons,  Rosevelts  and  Barclays 
were  all  invited.  It  being  a  delicious  season  of  the  year, 
every  thing  favored  this  pleasant  fete.  Mr.  Barclay,  who 
admired  excessively  a  ship  of  war,  instantly  persuaded  his 
wife  to  accept  the  invitation.  Georgiana  peremptorily  de- 
clined, but  Grace  was  extremely  pleased  with  the  idea  of 
seeing  the  beautiful  vessel  in  a  gala  dress,  the  more  espe- 
cially as  all  her  friends  were  going.  The  Dolly  was  in  a 
frenzy  of  despair  at  being  obliged  to  stay  away  from  this 
'  entrancing  party,'  and  coaxed  and  pleaded  and  induced 
Uncle  Richard  to  pray  for  her  exemption  from  general  rules, 
and,  at  last,  between  the  pair,  a  consent  was  extorted  ;  and 
even  Johnny  was  smuggled  on  board,  nobody  knew  how. 
Mr.  Rosevelt  was  strongly  suspected  of  having  introduced 
this  small  contraband  article,  but  there  he  was,  and  no  one 
pleaded  guilty,  not  even  the  youthful  aspirant  for  marine 
festivals  himself. 

On  a  delicious  afternoon  in  July,  the  Barclays  departed, 
'  on  pleasure  bent,'  from  their  own  house,  and  reached  '  the 
stairs,'  where  an  orderly  inquired  if  they  were  for  the  ship, 
to  which  they  responded  affirmatively.  A  young  midship- 
man assisted  them  down  these  stairs,  and  a  handsome  lieu- 
tenant placed  them  carefully  in  a  twelve-oared  barge,  the 
linings  of  which  rivalled  the  whiteness  of  the  women's 
dresses.  In  a  moment  they  were  upon  a  world  of  waters, 
enlivened  by  the  songs  of  the  seamen  in  the  surrounding 
shipping,  and  the  plashing  of  oars,  —  a  delightful  contrast 
indeed,  to  the  dust  and  brick  walls  of  the  city.  The  seven- 
ty-four's barges  were  plying  to  and  fro  for  the  guests, 
manned  by  sailors  in  their  prettiest  of  all  costumes.  At  the 
ship's  side,  on  a  carpeted  platform,  they  were  received  by 
two  officers,  who  helped  them  up  the  ladder,  which,  on  this 
occasion,  were  transformed  into  good  and  broad  steps.  They 
were  then  ushered  into  a  scene  of  perfect  enchantment,  a 
22 


254  THE    BARCLAYS 

ball-room  which  Aladdin's  lamp  might  have  produced  in  the 
good  olden  time,  when  we  believed  and  luxuriated  in  the 
Thousand-and-one  Nights,  —  a  ball-room  of  two  hundred 
feet  in  length,  adorned  with  the  flags  of  all  nations,  and 
presenting  such  a  gorgeous  harmony  of  coloring  as  quite 
dazzled  their  bewildered  eyes,  enchanting  the  artist  as  well 
as  the  amateur.  The  tri-color  of  France,  the  bold  lion 
of  England,  and  the  stars  and  stripes  of  our  own  land,  all 
mingled  together  in  peace  and  harmony,  as  it  is  hoped 
they  ever  will  be.  At  one  end  was  an  orchestra  most  taste- 
fully decorated  in- the  same  way,  and,  at  the  other,  the  top 
of  the  Commodore's  cabin  was  carpeted  and  draped  with 
flags  and  filled  with  luxurious  seats,  from  which  they  looked 
down  upon  the  beauteous  ball-room  below.  The  hatchways 
were  surrounded  with  stands  of  arms,  each  musket  bearing 
an  innocent  wax-light  !  a  great  relief  to  many  of  the  female 
part  of  the  assembled  company  who  held  in  terror  muskets 
without  either  stock  or  lock.  Colored  lanterns  were  dis- 
posed amidst  the  draperies,  looking  like  emeralds  and 
rubies. 

The  Barclays  were  presented  to  their  lady-like  hostess, 
and  the  Commodore,  all  graciousness,  conducted  them  over 
his  ship,  even  down  into  the  orlop-deck.  The  cleanliness 
and  purity  of  the  vessel  might  be  gathered  from  the  fact, 
that  the  white  satin  shoes  of  the  young  girls  were  spotless. 
They  then  peeped  out  of  sundry  loop-holes,  and  beheld  a 
sunset  such  as  never  was  surpassed  at  Venice,  where  the 
majesty  of  light  is  predominant.  As  the  twilight  shadows 
gathered  around,  the  illumination  of  this  enchanting  ball-room 
commenced,  and  when  it  was  finished  and  an  air  from  the 
opera  of  Gustavo  issued  from  the  orchestra,  it  surpassed  in 
beauty  the  famous  last  scene  in  that  production  at  Paris. 

Just  then  the  ships'  bell  sounded,  and  Mrs.  Barclay  de- 
clared she  was  alarmed  lest  it  mifzht  be  the  stage  managers' 

CD  DO 

call,  and  the  whole  would,  presto,  disappear,  so  perfect  was 
the  illusion.    The  company  was  composed  of  youth,  middle^ 


OF    BOSTON.  255 

aged,  and  even  some  old  people  —  a  very  memorable  event. 
Philadelphia  had  sent  to  this  ball  its  golden-haired  Peris, 
Milton  its  beauties,  and  Boston  its  lovely  daughters  and 
lovelier  mothers,  in  the  '  mezzo  giorno,'  on  whom  the  rich, 
warm  rays 

'  Of  mid-day  sun  shone  with  a  summer  power. 
Queen-like  they  moved  with  pure  and  lofty  brow, 
And,  redolent  of  thought,  life's  wide-expanded  flower 
Had  so  remained  unchanged.' 

Sweet  Tasso,  the  poet  of  the  matrons,  has  said  something 
like  this.  '  What  a  pity  the  mezzo  giorno  does  not  show 
itself  oftener ! ' 

The  dancing  was  spirited,  and  interspersed  with  frequent 
visits  to  refreshment-rooms  and  many  visits  to  the  gun-deck. 
Hundreds  of  cannon,  bristling  and  fearful,  lined  this  deck, 
wiiich  was  half-lighted,  presenting,  by  a  refinement  of  good 
taste  in  its  partial  illumination,  a  severe  contrast  to  the  ori- 
ental splendor  above  ;  and  in  truth  it  seemed  a  remarkably 
popular  part  of  the  ship,  the  sailors  grouped  in  amongst  the 
guns,  adding  to  the  lights  and  shadows  of  its  immense  per- 
spective. The  ofiicers  devoted  themselves  to  the  guests, 
and  every  woman  present  imagined  herself  an  exclusive  ob- 
ject of  attention,  an  impression  that  the  'buttons'  are  very 
apt  to  give  to  the  fair  sex.  At  midnight,  after  giving  a  dozen 
or  more  last  looks  at  the  ball-room,  the  guests  departed,  de- 
lighted with  every  arrangement,  and  as  the  ship  receded 
fi'om  their  view,  the  bright  moon  above,  the  blue  calm  waters 
below,  she  looked  as  she  was,  a  thing  of  life  and  beauty. 

To  attempt  to  describe  the  Dolly's  raptures  would  be  im- 
possible. She  was  soon  discovered  by  the  midshipmen  to  be 
an  admirable  dancer,  and  accordingly  her  partners  were 
countless,  and  she  flew  about  like  a  lapwing  and  was  sur- 
rounded by  admirers.  She  gave  her  mother  warning  next 
day  that  she  must  not  expect  her  to  be  rational  for  a  month, 
and  was  answered  that  if  she  were  it  would  be  for  the  first 


256  THE    BARCLAYS 

time  in  her  life.  Johnny  had  contracted  a  violent  friendship 
with  a  middy  who  was  just  out  of  leading-strings,  and  se- 
riously meditated  an  immediate  entrance  into  the  navy,  but 
was  admonished  by  his  father  that  he  had  better  wait  a  few 
years  and  ruminate  upon  his  project.  Shortly  after  this 
never  to  be  forgotten  ball,  the  Rosevelts  left  for  Norfolk,  and 
were  sadly  regretted  by  all  their  friends. 


OF    BOSTON.  257 


CHAPTER    XXX. 


'  If,  despising  all  visible  decorations,  tliey  were  only  in  love  •with  the 
embellishments  of  the  mind,  why  should  they  borrow  so  many  of  the 
implements,  and  make  use  of  the  most  darling  toys  of  the  luxurious  ? ' 

Bernard  Mandeville. 

Shortly  after  Gerald  Sanderson's  first  visit  to  Mr.  Barton, 
he  received  from  him  a  huge  embossed  card,  in  a  saffron- 
colored  envelope,  requesting  the  honor  of  his  company  at 
dinner,  and  forthwith  accepted  the  invitation.  A  week's 
notice  prepared  him  for  a  grand  entertainment,  and  on  the 
appointed  day  he  sallied  forth,  in  full  dress,  to  dine  with  his 
patron.  Punctually  at  five  he  reached  the  house,  and  being 
ushered  into  the  '  best  parlors,'  found  that  he  had  arrived 
half  an  hour  too  early,  his  watch  having  misled  him.  In  the 
interval,  before  the  appearance  of  the  ladies,  and  his  host, 
whose  apparelling  was  not  finished,  he  had  plenty  of  time  to 
examine,  at  his  leisure,  the  plenishing  of  these  halls  of 
beauty. 

Louis  the  Fourteenth  has  many  misdeeds  for  which  to 
answer  to  posterity,  but  if  he  could  but  see  the  abominations, 
in  the  matter  of  furniture  and  upholstery,  perpetrated  in  his 
honor,  and  falsely  bearing  his  name  and  style  in  these  United 
States  of  America,  he  would  consider  his  punishment  great 
indeed.  Really  nothing  was  ever  so  odious  as  the  sprawling 
tables  and  comfortless  chairs  and  sofas,  which,  covered  with 
gilding  and  brocade,  encumbered  those  small  rooms,  and  all 
so  low  that  no  one  could  rise  from  them  without  risk  of  life 
and  limb.  Immense  mirrors  with  ponderous  frames,  enor- 
mous clocks,  and  huge  figures,  bearing  candles  so  tall  that 
22* 


258  THE     BARCLAYS 

they  almost  reached  the  low  plaster  of  Paris  ceilings,  all  cold 
and  naked.  The  walls  were  covered  with  the  gaudiest  of 
paper-hangings,  and  sprinkled  over  with  pictures,  great  and 
small,  the  lines  all  broken  at  the  base,  and  looking  as  if  they 
had  been  thrown  there  at  a  venture. 

The  catalogue  of  this  collection  of  the  fine  arts  was  abso- 
lutely astounding  in  its  nomenclature  —  two  Raphaels,  four 
Correggios,  almost  as  many  as  grace  the  Dresden  Gallery, 
three  Claudes,  &c.  Now,  considering  that  the  love-lorn 
King  of  Bavaria  purchased  the  last  d'Urbino  to  be  found  on 
sale  in  all  Europe  for  twelve  thousand  dollars,  and  a  small 
one  too,  it  was  really  marvellous  where  such  inestimable 
treasures  had  been  found.  Not  a  single  native  artist  had 
been,  by  any  chance,  admitted  into  this  distinguished  society. 
Oh,  no  !  On  the  other  hand,  there  were  loads  of  knicknack- 
eries,  puerile  and  ridiculous  enough.  Presently  the  ladies 
dropped  in,  one  after  another,  and  were  enchanted  to  renew 
their  acquaintance  with  Gerald  and  their  inquisitorial  re- 
searches into  the  Barclay  family.  To  all  their  demands 
upon  his  time,  Gerald  exhibited  the  most  remarkable  and 
exemplary  patience,  it  being  an  ever-gracious  theme  to  him, 
the  mention  of  his  friends.  The  Misses  Barton  informed 
him  they  were  to  entertain  on  that  day  a  most  select  party, 
with  only  one  exception,  and  that  was  their  father's  country 
cousin  —  Mrs.  Hastings,  of  Hastingsville  —  who  having  most 
inopportunely  arrived  the  evening  before,  they  had  been 
obliged  to  invite  sadly  against  their  will. 

'  I  told  her,'  said  Miss  Araminta  Cora,  who  rather  liked 
Gerald,  and  threatened  to  do  even  more,  '  that  she  would 
not  in  the  least  enjoy  herself,  and  begged  her  to  come  to- 
morrow, when  we  would  get  up  a  snug  little  party  of  her  old 
friends  for  her,  but  she  would  not  hear  of  this  arrangement, 
declaring  she  wished  to  see  our  new  ones  ;  and  as  there  are 
expectations,  she  being  vcrv  rich  indeed,  we  were  obliged  to 
submit.  Now,'  resumed  the  young  lady,  quite  confiden- 
tially, '  though  I  should  like  exceedingly  to  have  you  to  sit 


OF    BOSTON.  259 

beside  me  at  dinner,  I  must  renounce  the  gratification,  and 
beg  you  to  do  me  the  great  favor  to  lead  our  cousin  of 
Hastingsviile  down  stairs  ;  for  if  she  gets  near  any  other  of 
our  guests,  she  will  so  shock  them  with  her  commonplaces, 
proverbs,  and  homely  saws.' 

So  Gerald  promised,  and  received  in  return  the  most  gra- 
cious of  smiles  from  Miss  Araminta  Cora. 

The  party  consisted  of  twenty-four  persons,  a  world  too 
many  for  enjoyment.  None  of  them  seemed  to  be  ac- 
quainted with  each  other,  and  Mr.  Barton  persisted  in  intro- 
ducing them.  Now,  as  they  were  all  Bostonians,  this  was 
in  bad  taste  ;  and  Gerald  was  just  thinking  that  the  several 
parties  were  much  annoyed,  when  one  gentleman  rebelled, 
and  fairly  told  his  host  that  he  declined  the  acquaintance  of 
the  person  to  whom  he  was  presented.  This  was  a  terrible 
stroke,  but  it  transpired  that  there  had  been  a  deadly  feud 
between  the  two  gentlemen,  all  about  a  cargo  of  saltpetre,  in 
which  neither  was  to  blame  except  that  they  would  not  listen 
to  reason,  and  of  which  Mr.  Barton  was  entirely  ignorant, 
this  being  a  new  phase  of  society  to  him.  This,  it  must  be 
confessed,  was  a  most  discordant  commencement  of  festivi- 
ties, and  as  ill-luck  prevailed,  the  twain  were  seated  next  to 
each  other  at  tabic,  and  discoursed  gunpowder  slantwise. 
Indeed,  it  was  discovered  that  almost  every  one  had  been 
mismated  on  this  grand  occasion. 

Gerald  thought  he  was  especially  favored,  for  just  before 
the  repast,  Mr.  Barton,  taking  him  suddenly  by  the  button- 
hole, and  at  the  same  time  destroying  a  moss  rosebud  which 
his  daughter.  Miss  Araminta  Cora,  had  bestowed  upon  the 
3^outh,  begged  him  to  place  himself  at  his  right  hand.  '  For,' 
said  he,  '  my  girls  have  insisted  upon  giving  a  thorough 
French  dinner,  and  I  don't  know  the  name  of  a  single  kick- 
shaw, so  you  must  promise  to  tell  me.'  Poor  Gerald  !  his 
post  of  favorite  promised  to  be  rather  wearisome,  but  he 
slipped  out  of  this  dilemma  by  advising  his  friend  not  to 
attempt  offering  any  thing  whatever,  but  to  order  the  ser- 


260  THE    BARCLAYS 

vants  to  do  so.  '  What  a  horrid  time  I  shall  have,'  said  Mr. 
Barton,  '  not  heing  able  to  offer  any  thing ;  how  very  inhospi- 
table I  shall  seem.  Those  confounded  girls  will  be  the  death 
of  me  with  their  foreign  nonsense  ;  I  wish  I  had  never  con- 
sented to  such  a  grand  parade.' 

Gerald,  faithful  to  his  promise,  escorted  Mrs.  Hastings  to 
dinner,  and  shortly  heard  the  Misses  Barton  holding  long 
arguments  on  their  favorite  studies  with  the  two  saltpetre 
guests,  who,  for  once,  though  not  addressing  each  other, 
seemed  to  be  of  the  same  mind,  opining  that  one  or  two 
'quarters'  of  chemistry,  geology,  medicine  and  anatomy 
were  worse  than  useless;  and  one  of  them,  avowing  he 
had  dabbled  a  little  in  the  sciences,  thought  a  whole  life 
would  hardly  suffice  for  the  acquisition  of  chemistry  alone. 
Mr.  Barton,  who  supposed  his  talented  progeny  had  learned 
all  these  things  thoroughly,  was  amazed  beyond  expression 
at  this  discovery,  and  after  a  long  pause,  he  turned  to  Mrs. 
Hastings  and  said,  '  Well,  cousin,  what  do  you  think  of  all 
this  ? '  The  lady,  who  proved  to  be  a  strong-minded  woman, 
declared  she  had  given  no  attentiun  to  the  sciences,  seeing 
that  it  required  an  age  to  get  any  knowledge  of  them  what- 
ever, but  was  devoting  all  her  powers  to  getting  a  homestead 
bill  passed,  and  was  resolved  to  see  if  women  could  not  be 
exempted  from  taxation,  —  an  abominable  imposition  upon 
the  sex,  which  she  hoped  to  see  set  right  before  she  died. 
There  should  be  no  taxation  without  representation  ;  for  her 
part  she  did  not  desire  to  represent  any  thing  but  her- 
self, but  she  would  not  be  satisfied  until  that  thing  was 
changed. 

Gerald,  finding  his  host  had  sprung  a  mine  unawares,  en- 
deavored to  change  the  conversation  by  inquiring  of  the  lady 
how  she  liked  the  country. 

'I  should  like  it  very  well,'  she  replied,  '  if  I  could  ever 
discover  it  in  America.  Where  I  live  there  is  more  aj)ing  of 
what  my  neighbors  are  pleased  to  call  "style  and  fashion" 
than    in  any  city  in  the  Union.     I  hear  divers  complaints 


OF    BOSTON.  »  261 

here  of  the  same  thing,  but  do  you  come  and  stay  with  me 
and  see  how  the  rule  works  at  Hastingsville.  Why,'  said 
she,  '  none  of  the  farmers'  daughters  make  butter  and 
cheese  now ;  they  are  all  learning  exactly  what  cousin 
Barton's  girls  do,  and  talk  in  precisely  the  same  ridiculous 
manner  of  things  they  know  nothing  about.  Cousin  Barton 
can  afford  to  allow  his  chits  to  waste  their  time,  but  the 
country  people  must  have  somebody  to  do  housework  and 
look  after  the  dairy  ;  all  the  world  can't  be  idle  ladies  and 
gentlemen.  The  fact  is,'  she  resumed,  '  the  spirit  of  unrest 
is  rampant  in  our  country ;  nobody  is  satisfied  ;  even  I,  with 
my  eyes  wide  open  to  this  crying  evil,  have  two  objects 
which  must  and  shall  be  accomplished,  and  I  should  not  be 
an  American  if  I  had  not.' 

Gerald  was  much  amused  with  his  neighbor,  and  heard 
her  opinion  of  the  guests  with  a  hearty  laugh.  '  The  old 
friends,'  she  declared,  'were  much  the  most  interesting; 
they  had  subjects  in  common  with  cousin  Barton,  and  were 
not  set  up  and  stiff  like  these  people.  The  old  dinners  were 
vastly  pleasanter  and  better  ;  for  her  part,  she  liked  to  know 
what  she  was  eating  ;  nobody  could  tell  what  these  French- 
men did  when  they  once  got  into  one's  kitchen.  And  then, 
cousin  Barton,  a  good  creature  enough,  and  his  wife  even 
better,  were  thrown  away  upon  the  "  upper  ten  thousand." 
They  despised  them,  and  melancholy  to  relate,  by  courting 
these  people  they  had  lost  all  their  old  friends.  Now  if  you 
could  have  seen  Nick  at  his  own  board  years  ago  ;  he  was 
such  a  happy  fellow !  urging  every  body  to  eat  his  good 
things,  and  enjoying  himself  hugely  ;  now  he  looks  all  curled 
up  into  a  heap.'  Then  peeping  down  the  table,  she  reported 
Mrs.  Barton  to  be  in  precisely  the  same  condition.  '  This 
all  comes,'  said  she,  '  of  spoiling  children.  My  cousin's 
daughters  are  all  the  time  tutoring  their  parents,  and  have 
deprived  them  of  all  their  pleasures.  When  I  am  here  I 
have  some  influence,  and  use  it  to  make  my  kind-hearted 
relatives  more  comfortable  with  pleasant   chats   about   old 


262  THE    BARCLAYS 

times,  for  I  should  think  this  eternal  bothering  about  Pin- 
nock's  catechisms  would  weary  them  out  of  their  senses.  I 
am  sure  I  take  leave  of  my  own  sometimes,  here  and  at 
home,  with  all  the  nonsease  I  hear.  You  perceive  1  speak 
plainly.' 

'  I  am  afraid,  Mrs.  Hastings,'  said  Gerald,  '  you  will  disa- 
buse me  of  all  my  ruralities  by  the  account  you  give  of 
country  life,  and  the  falling  off  of  the  present  generation 
from  the  good  fashions  of  their  forefathers.' 

'I  am  sorry  to  disturb  your  illusions,'  replied  the  lady, 
'but,  if  you  could  see  my  neighbors  in  their  silks  and  finery, 
you  would  soon  cast  aside  all  your  preconceived  opinions. 
There  are  no  milkmaids  now ;  they  went  out  with  the 
spelling-book  which  chronicled  the  well-filled  pail.  The 
young  ladies  are  afraid  of  cows.  Eggs  are  no  longer  counted  ; 
and  all  the  wools  sorted  are  German,  out  of  which  country 
damsels  manufacture  —  not  socks  and  stockings,  as  of  old 
—  but  nondescript  animals  and  cabbage-headed  flowers.' 

'  Have  you  no  influence  ?  '  queried  Gerald. 

'  None  at  all :  the  fact  is,  I  get  angry  and  lose  all  my 
persuasive  powers  —  if  any  I  ever  had  —  which  I  doubt.' 

The  dinner  was  excellent,  and  admirably  ordered,  and 
well  served,  and  Mrs.  Hastings  was  fain  to  confess  that  the 
colored  gentry,  who  conducted  the  arrangements,  were 
capable  and  much  better  trained  than  the  old  scrambling 
set,  who  formerly  served  her  cousin's  table  at  the  repasts 
she  so  much  regretted  ;  but  then  the  guests,  she  persisted 
in  declaring,  were  not  half  so  pleasant  or  agreeable. 

The  company  all  leaving  the  dining-room  at  the  same 
time,  rnusic  was  introduced,  the  Misses  Barton  regaling 
their  circle  with  some  very  questionable  melodies.  When 
they  had  finished,  Gerald  was  entreated  to  favor  them.  So 
he  obligingly  sang  some  delicious  airs  from  '  Lucretia 
Borgia,' accompanying  himself  with  a  guitar,  and  received 
the  most  enthusiastic  thanks.  His  style  was  unambitious, 
his  rich  manly  voice,  soul-searching,   penetrated   into  the 


OF   BOSTON.  263 

recesses-  of  all  hearts,  and  his  auditors  seemed  never  weary 
of  listening.  When  he  had  finished,  Mrs.  Hastings  was 
exceedingly  voluble  in  his  praise,  and  informed  him  that 
she  had  puzzled  her  poor  brains  all  dinner-time,  to  under- 
stand what  situation  he  held  in  the  family  —  she  having 
been  told  he  had  one  —  and  now  she  had  discovered  he  was 
the  music-master,  he  could  be  nought  else. 

Gerald,  laughingly,  assured  her  that  he  had  not  the  honor 
to  teach  the  young  ladies,  and  that  such  was  not  his  voca- 
tion. Then  how  can  he  play  and  sing  so  well,  queried  Mrs. 
Hastings,  if  he  is  not  a  teacher  t  The  carriages  being  shortly 
announced,  the  guests  departed,  and  when  the  last  vehicle 
rolled  away,  Mr.  Barton,  giving  himself  a  congratulatory 
shake,  and  unbuttoning  the  lower  part  of  his  waistcoat, 
plumped  himself  down  into  a  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  as  if  he 
hoped  to  rise  from  it  nevermore,  and  exclaimed,  in  most 
joyous  tones,  'Thank  heaven,  it's  all  over.'  'Why  father!' 
screamed  the  triad  of  daughters,  '  how  can  you  say  so .'' 
every  thing  so  elegant,  so  well  arranged,  such  good  taste, 
so  recherche.'' 

'  I  don't  know  what  that  last  word  means,  if  it  be  not 
stupid,'  said  he. 

'  Oh  dear  !  oh  dear  ! '  screamed  the  three  in  concert. 

'  Well,  my  old  woman,  what  do  you  say  ?  '  said  their 
father,  addressing  his  wife,  'what  do  you  think  of  this  hard 
day's  work  ?  ' 

'  Why,  my  good  husband,  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  cook- 
ing the  grand  dinner,  and  that  I  liked  very  much.  I've 
seen  the  time  when  I  was  so  thoroughly  worn  out  making 
jellies,  custards  and  pastry,  that  I  hardly  had  any  strength 
left  to  put  on  my  best  gown,  and  was  half-asleep  all  dinner- 
time.' 

'  But,'  interrupted  !Mrs.  Hastings,  '  did  you  have  a  pleas- 
ant meal  to-day  ?  ' 

''  To  be  sure,'  replied  Mrs.  Barton,  '  to  be  sure  I  did  ; 


264  THE    BARCLAYS 

there  was  not  even  one  dish  put  on  the  table  awry,  and  that 
was  really  charming  ! ' 

Mrs.  Hastings,  of  Hastingsville,  smiling  contemptuously 
at  her  simple  cousin's  idea  of  a  pleasant  dinner,  then 
inquired  if  Mrs.  Barton  had  enjoyed  any  improving  conver- 
sation with  the  gentlemen  who  sat  at  her  side,  she  having 
observed  that  they  talked  very  fast  across  their  hostess. 

'Why  no,  not  exactly,'  she  answered,  'they  almost  dis- 
tracted me  with  talking  about  things  I  could  not  understand. 
They  had  a  furious  dispute  about  steamboats  going  to  Eng- 
land, and  quoted  Dr.  Dionysius  Lardner,  Mrs.  Heavyside, 
and  a  vast  many  learned  people  besides.' 

Mrs.  Hastings,  casting  a  half  glance  at  Gerald  —  who  had 
been  especially  requested  to  remain — said,  'I  perceived 
they  had  almost  forgotten  your  presence,  which  I  consider 
very  rude  indeed  ;  there  is  surely  a  certain  respect  always 
due  to  the  hostess.'  '  Cousin  Nick,'  said  she,  '  I  do  not 
think  you  have  got  at  the  right  people  yet.  "What's  the  use 
of  talking  of  books  forever  }  I  want  to  know  what  a  man 
thinks  himself,  and  desire  to  get  at  the  kernel  of  these  big 
nuts.  Now,  there  are  in  Boston  and  its  environs  —  if  they 
could  be  collected  together,  which  I  am  told  is  very  diffi- 
cult—  very  agreeable  people.  Then  why  don't  you  try.'' 
It  would  be  riclily  worth  your  while.  Almost  every  body 
likes  good  dinners.  Yours  arc  splendid.  Then  why  have 
them  eaten  by  such  disagreeable  stiff  creatures  —  so  full  of 
airs  and  pretensions,  and  apparently  having  no  regard  for 
you  whatever.' 

'  Shocking,  shocking  ! '  cried  tiic  young  ladies. 

'I  think,'  said  their  father,  'she  is  perfectly  right;  but 
I  had  rather  have  my  old  friends  than  any  others ;  there's 
n  heartiness  about  them  I  like.' 

'  Then,  why  not  invite  them  ? '  asked  Mrs.  Hastings. 

'Because  the  girls  have  so  showed  them  the  cold  shoulder 
that  they  will  not  come  if  we  were  to  go  on  our  knees 
to  them.' 


OF    BOSTON.  265 

'  If  there  is  one  thing  I  have  to  be  more  thankful  for 
than  another,  it  is  that  I  have  no  daughters,  cousin.' 

'  Thankful  for  small  favors,'  sneered  Mr.  Barton,  who 
did  not  like  to  hear  his  children  criticised. 

'Do  you  know  any  man  satisfied  with  his  condition  in 
this  country  ?  '  asked  Mrs.  Hastings,  suddenly  turning  to 
Gerald. 

'  I  think  I  do.' 

'  Who  is  the  happy  person  ?' 

'  Mr.  Barclay.' 

'  Will  you  introduce  me  to  him  ?' 

'  I  can  hardly  take  that  liberty,  madam,  having  so  lately 
made  his  acquaintance  myself.' 

'  1  shall  then  call  upon  him  shortly,  as  I  am  really  anxious 
to  see  a  contented  individual.' 

'  Have  you  none  in  Hastingsville  ?  ' 

'  The  last  place  in  (he  world  for  a  search !  All  my 
acquaintances  there  are  dying  to  go  to  town,  and  I  can 
hardly  have  my  own  way  in  any  thing  —  every  body  quoting 
"city  fashions"  —  that's  the  pet  phrase.  I  wanted,  last 
week,  to  get  some  large  logs  cut  for  rustic  seats,  and  I 
was  credibly  informed  that  nobody  sat  upon  logs  in  the 
city,  and,  if  I  would,  I  must  have  stuffed  cushions.' 

Just  then,  Gerald  discovered  Mrs.  Barton  in  a  sound 
sleep  on  the  most  comfortless  of  sofas,  and,  being  fearful 
if  the  lady  remained  much  longer  in  her  crooked  position 
she  would  catch  a  stiff  neck,  he  arose  to  depart.  Mrs. 
Barton  awoke,  and  was  greatly  shocked  to  perceive  slie 
had  reclined  upon  the  brocade  —  '  ten  dollars  a  yard.'  How 
she  sighed  ! 

As  Gerald  wended  his  way  home,  he  reflected,  in  a 
species  of  agony,  upon  the  prospect  of  Mrs.  Hastings'  visit 
to  Mr.  Barclay,  and  this  under  the  cover  of  his  own  name. 
What  should  he  do  when  he  saw  her  enter,  some  pleasant 
evening,  the  charmed  circle  where  all  his  ideas  of  elegant 
refinement  centred  ?  This  question  he  repeatedly  asked 
23 


266  THE    BARCLAYS 

himself,  and    regretted    having   answered   the   lady,  when 
she  inquired  where  a  contented  man  was  to  be  found. 

Mrs,  Hastings,  of  Hastingsville,  was  an  enterprising  wo- 
man, priding  herself  upon  a  strong  mind,  very  much  given 
to  fiercely  enforcing  her  doctrines  —  in  other  words,  cram- 
ming them  down  other  people's  throats.  Her  personal 
appearance  also  added  some  weight  to  her  arguments  ;  for 
she  was  a  tall,  masculine  woman,  with  remarkably  big, 
uncovered  bones,  a  loud  voice,  and,  —  being  near-sighted  — 
wore  spectacles,  sometimes,  even  green  ones.  ■Mrs.  Has- 
tings' dress,  however,  was  unlike  that  of  her  sisters  of  the 
strong-minded  class,  being  remarkably  rich  and  elaborate  ; 
and,  although  not  certainly  prepossessing,  her  air  and  man- 
ner commanded  respect.  Yet  still  Gerald  Sanderson  was 
quite  nervous  at  the  idea  of  her  presenting  herself,  at  what 
might  seem  to  be  his  instigation,  in  Mrs.  Barclay's  house  ; 
so  he  resolved  to  explain  the  matter  in  that  quarter,  lest  the 
lady  might  fall  upon  her  unawares.  His  fears  of  the  threat- 
ened invasion  for  such  a  curious  purpose,  were  shortly 
removed  by  hearing  Mr.  Barton  regret  that  his  cousin  had 
been  suddenly  called  home  by  the  illness  of  her  husband  ; 
and  Gerald  was  thereby  made  aware  of  the  existence  of 
such  an  individual  as  Mr.  Hastings  —  a  gentleman,  whom 
Mr.  Barton  averred,  was  very  little  seen  and  I'arely  heard. 
Tills  did  not  surprise  Gerald,  as  he  had  concluded,  that  if 
there  existed  a  person  enjoying  a  marital  title  in  tlie  lady's 
household,  he  must  be  very  secondary  indeed. 


OF    BOSTON.  267 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

'  Of  all  the  gay  i^laces  the  Avorlcl  can  afFoi'd 
By  gentle  and  simple  for  pastime  ador'd, 
Fine  balls,  and  fine  concerts,  fine  buildings  and  springs, 
Fine  walks  and  fine  views,  and  a  thousand  fine  things.' 

Bath  Guide. 

Mr.  Barclay,  amidst  his  pleasant  possessions,  had  never 
made  the  acquisition  of  a  counfry-house.  He  declared  him- 
self to  be  a  bit  of  a  cockney,  liking  his  city  life  extremely 
well,  and  varying  it  in  the  summer  heats  by  excursions  to 
the  sea-shore  and  watering-places.  The  latter  he  had  not 
recently  frequented,  as  he  had  thought  his  daughters  too 
young  for  such  gay  places. 

Mrs.  Barclay,  who  ever  jestingly  asserted  that  she  had 
not  the  housekeeping  bump  sufficiently  developed  in  her 
cranium  to  keep  up  two  establishments  suitably,  preferred 
to  retain  one  in  excellent  order,  and  enjoyed  these  snatches 
of  change  greatly,  but  always  returned,  with  renewed 
pleasure,  to  her  own  charming  home.  Both  parents,  how- 
ever, thought  that  an  entire  revolution  in  Georgy's  habits 
and  feelings  would  be  eminently  beneficial,  and  resolved  to 
take  her  with  her  sisters  to  Saratoga.  To  this  arrangement 
she  made  a  decided  resistance,  and  pleaded  that  neither  her 
health  nor  spirits  demanded  it;  that  she  was  perfectly  con- 
tented in  her  father's  house,  and  required  no  change  what- 
ever; but  in  the  end  consented  to  go,  to  gratify  her  parents. 
For  herself,  she  anticipated  no  pleasure  whatever,  but  true 
to  her  resolve  of  doing  every  thing,  henceforth,  for  them, 
she  determined  to  adopt  the  semblance  of  satisfaction  at 


268  THE    BARCLAYS 

least.  She  was  so  conscious  that  her  melancholy  story 
would  be  known  and  commented  upon,  that  she  dreaded  an 
entrance  into  a  world  of  strangers ;  but  this  display  was 
entirely  obviated  by  the  extraordinary  resemblance  between 
herself  and  Grace,  and,  as  no  one  could  very  Avell  distin- 
guish one  from  the  other,  she  thereby  avoided  all  embarrass- 
ment. 

Mrs.  Ashley  accompanied  them  on  this  excursion,  and 
Mr.  Richard  declined.  He  said  he  detested  watering-places, 
and  once  a  day  was  quite  sufficient  for  him  to  see  the  silly 
widow,  without  being  obligated  to  dance  attendance  upon 
her  for  a  month.  Mr.  Richard  might  have  spared  himself 
these  fears,  and  have  enjoyed  many  pleasant  hours  with  his 
friends,  instead  of  dozing  away  his  time  at  home,  earnestly 
praying  for  their  return,  and  railing  against  such  absurdities 
as  families  leaving  their  own  comfortable  dwellings  and 
running  about  in  search  of  pleasure.  Indeed,  at  one  mo- 
ment, he  was  almost  tempted  to  follow  them,  so  heartily 
wearied  was  he  of  his  solitariness;  but  then  his  consistency 
was  at  stake,  and  obstinacy  forbade  any  change  of  purpose. 

The  amiable  grumbler  might  have  truly  spared  himself 
any  apprehensions  with  regard  to  Mrs.  Ashley,  pleasant 
people  being  wanted  every  where,  and  in  no  place  more 
than  Saratoga ;  the  lady  was  followed  and  courted  to  her 
heart's  content.  And  a  charming  party  they  were,  when 
they  first  appeared  ;  all  the  inmates  of  the  United  States 
Hotel  congratulated  themselves  upon  such  an  addition  to 
the  beauty  and  grace  of  the  household.  They  soon  made 
many  acquaintances,  and  the  younger  members  contract- 
ed indissoluble  friendships  with  other  young  creatures 
whom  they  hud  never  seen  before,  and  there  was  the  ac- 
customed interchange  of  trinkets,  bouquets,  locks  of  hair, 
and  model  attachments,  which  commonly  occur  upon  such 
momentous  occasions.  The  sisters  were  quite  worshipped, 
so  beautiful  and  so  engaging,  their  music  entrancing  all  ears 
with  harmonious  strains !    The  Dolly  considered  herself,  she 


OF    BOSTON.  269 

said,  in  a  terrestrial  paradise  midway  between  heaven  and 
earth,  and  even  had  not  time  to  remember  if '  the  tails '  were 
bound  round  her  head  or  not ;  the  more  especially  as  certain 
Spanish  girls,  to  whom  she  had  vowed  an  enduring  con- 
stancy, allowed  theirs  to  float  on  the  breeze  with  endless 
yards  of  colored  ribbons. 

Mr.  Naseby  had  followed  his  adorations,  and,  just  one 
week  after  his  arrival,  the  following  occurred. 

'  My  dear  Grace,'  said  Georgy,  rushing  into  her  sister's 
chamber,  '  such  a  scene  as  I  have  had !  I  think  I  shall 
hardly  be  able  to  recount  my  absurd  adventure,  for  laugh- 
ing.' 

'  Pray  what  is  it,  Georgy  ?  I  am  dying  with  curiosity  to 
hear.' 

'  And  so  you  should  be  dying  to  know  it,  for  you  are,  in 
truth,  the  heroine,  though  I  flourished  in  your  stead.' 

'  Please  tell  me  directly  then,  dear  Georgy,' 

'  I  was  just  running  through  the  garden  piazza,  from  a 
friend's  room  to  my  own,  when  my  steps  were  arrested  by 
a  hand  gently  and  lightly  laid  upon  my  arm,  and  a  voice 
whispered  softly,  "  Give  me  but  one  moment,  divine  Miss 
Grace,  —  a  kingdom  for  one  moment."  At  first,  I  was 
bewildered  by  the  suddenness  of  the  movement,  and,  as  it 
was  twilight,  hardly  knew  by  whom  I  was  addressed  ;  but 
shortly  perceiving  this  importunate  swain  to  be  one  of  your 
waifs  and  strays,  Mr.  Naseby,  I  became  instantly  possessed 
with  a  little  of  my  old  mischief,  and  resolved  to  leave  him 
in  his  delusion,  he  being  always  in  one,  you  well  know,  so  I 
stopped  and  received  the  most  impassioned  declaration  of 
love  and  adoration,  and,  over  and  above  all  this,  a  positive 
ofter  of  his  hand  and  heart,  house,  carriages,  jewels,  &c., 
&c.' 

'  Capital ! '  exclaimed  Gracy,  '  what  fun  !  and  what  did 
you  say  ? ' 

'  Why,  I  ventured   to  put  a  very  pretty  negative  on  all 
these  demonstrations.     Was  I  right  ? ' 
23* 


270  THE     BARCLAYS 

'  To  be  sure.  What !  I  marry  Mr.  Naseby  !  heaven  for- 
bid.' 

'  But  he  would  not  receive  the  negative,  and  insisted  that 
his  devotion,  his  love,  demanded  quite  another  response, 
and  even  suggested,  —  you  understand  his  consummate  vani- 
ty—  that  you  had,  in  some  sort,  favored  his  suit;  that  he 
had  seen  certain  indications  of  preference,  not  to  say,  affec- 
tion. I  thought  I  should  have  laughed  outright  when  he 
asserted  his  having  seen  any  thing.  Imagine  his  adopting 
that  phrase,  under  the  circumstances  ;  it  was  like  a  blind 
man  talking  of  light.  I  confess  I  was  irritated  when  he 
hinted  at  your  having  betrayed  a  preference  for  him,  and 
that  made  me  even  more  decided  than  I  should  have  been, 
and  I  reiterated  my  refusal  very  pertinaciously.  Upon  this, 
he  declared  himself  to  be  a  very  ill-used  person,  saying  that 
you  had  never  given  him  reason  to  think  he  was  displeasing 
to  you,  and  that  even  your  father  and  mother  had  also  smiled 
upon  him,  as  well  as  ^liss  Georgy  Barclay,  and  that  he 
had,  fbr  some  time,  considered  himself  quite  assured  of  the 
concurrence  of  all  your  family.  I  replied  that  he  must 
receive  this  denial  in  good  faith,  and  must  never  again  re- 
sume the  subject,  and  upon  that  ground  alone  would  he  be 
permitted  to  renew  his  intercourse  with  my  relatives.  Mr. 
iSaseby  then  became  quite  angry,  and  declared  he  should 
complain  to  my  father,  and  reveal  to  him  the  manner  in 
which  his  daughter  encouraged  her  admirers,  and  then  re- 
jected them.  I  told  him  that  course  would  be  of  no  avail, 
we  were  quite  spoiled  with  indulgence,  and,  being  always 
allowed  to  take  our  own  way  in  these  things,  he  would  abso- 
lutely gain  nothing  by  such  a  procedure.  Finding  me  most 
unrelenting,  —  though  I  cannot  think  the  measures  he  took 
were  very  persuasive,  —  he  departed  in  a  furious  mood, 
choosing  to  regard  himself  as  a  most  remarkably  injured 
individual.' 

'  How  very,  very  happy  I  am,'  cried  Gracy,  '  that  you 
received   his  declaration  in   lieu  of  myself,  you   answered 


OF    BOSTON.  271 

the  silly  fellow  so  much  better  than  I  could  have  possibly 
done.  What  can  he  call  encouragement  ?  I  really  have 
almost  had  scruples  of  conscience  when  I  have  thought  of 
the  mischief  we  have  concocted  together,  and  all  the  naugh- 
ty tricks  we  have  played  upon  Mr.  Naseby.  I  shall  never 
experience  any  more  twinges,  I  can  assure  you. 

'  Oh  !  no,'  said  Georgy,  '  have  no  compassion  at  all  upon 
him  ;  he  has  sadly  misbehaved  this  evening.  I  am  not  quite 
positive  that  I  have  been  able  to  make  my  account  of  this 
adventure  very  lucidly  clear,  for  there  was  such  a  confusion 
of  persons  and  things  in  my  mind.' 

'  Pray  make  no  apology,  dear  Georgy  ;  the  only  wonder 
is,  how  you  managed  to  do  so  well,  and  save  me  so  much 
trouble.  I  shall  never  think  of  that  garden  scene  without 
laughing.  What  a  Romeo  !  W^hy  worlds  would  not  induce 
me  to  marry  such  a  buzzard,  and  so  vain  and  conceited  !  I 
hope  he  will  not  be  so  silly  as  to  appeal  from  your  decision, 
or  mine,  —  which  is  it .'' 

'  He  ma}',  but  if  he  does,  he  will  gain  nothing,  and  my 
father  and  mother  both  well  know  that  you  have,  always 
refused  to  listen  to  his  declarations,  and  that  I  have  done 
the  same  thing.  Now,  Gracy,  as  it  is  evident  he  cannot 
distinguish  his  charmer  from  her  sister,  what  a  confused 
story  he  will  have  to  tell ;  and  you  can  affirm  that  you 
never  received  the  proffer  of  his  true  love  !  This  is  really 
delightful!'  And  Georgy  positively  laughed,  after  her  old 
fashion,  in  a  way  that  gladdened  the  heart  of  her  sister,  in 
which  merriment  Gracy  cordially  joined. 

That  evening,  at  the  ball,  Mr.  Naseby  avoided  Gracy, 
but  certainly  did  appeal  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barclay,  repre- 
senting himself  as  a  much  aggrieved  personage.  They 
assured  him  that  they  had  never  perceived  the  least  appa- 
rent liking  for  him  in  their  daughter,  but  would  inquire  the 
next  morning  Itow  matters  stood.  This  they  accordingly 
did,  and  were  immensely  amused  when  they  listened  to  the 
little  farce  which  had  been  enacted  on  the  garden  piazza. 


272  THE    BARCLAYS 

But  how  to  reveal  to  the  gentleman  his  mistake  ?  The 
Gracy  had  no  mercy  upon  him,  for  she  thought  he  had 
hoped  to  implicate  her,  and  Georgy  was  resolved  he  should 
know  what  he  had  done,  as  she  thought  this  knowledge 
would  prevent  any  recurrence  of  like  adventures  in  future. 
So,  Mr.  Barclay  was  deputed  to  inform  Mr.  Naseby  that  he 
had  offered  himself  to  the  wrong  sister,  and,  though  this 
office  was  performed  in  the  kindliest  spirit  imaginable,  it 
proved  any  thing  but  acceptable  to  the  unfortunate  recipient. 
Mr.  Naseby  would  not,  at  first,  believe  he  could  have  been 
so  deceived,  and  Mr.  Barclay  was  obliged  to  remind  him 
of  the  imperfectibility  of  his  vision,  tempered  with  the  ac- 
knowledged resemblance  between  his  daughters.  This 
softened  the  matter  a  little,  but  he  keenly  felt  all  the  ridicule 
attendant  upon  such  an  absurd  incident,  and  commented, 
with  great  severity,  upon  Miss  Georgiana  Barclay's  assump- 
tion of  her  sister's  name  and  style.  This  part  of  his  pro- 
ceedings Mr.  Barclay  advised  him  to  withhold  and  keep  to 
himself,  and,  moreover,  counselled  him  to  bury  the  whole 
affair  in  oblivion,  as  the  part  he  had  played  in  it  did  not  cer- 
tainly redound  to  his  credit,  and,  by  blazoning  it  abroad,  he 
would  only  publish  his  own  discomfiture.  Whereupon,  the 
indignant  and  defeated  pretender  to  Gracy 's  hand  took  the 
advice  so  kindly  proffered,  and  departed  the  next  day,  having 
lost  all  the  pleasure  he  had  proposed  to  himself  in  his  excur- 
sion to  Saratoga.  Gracy  was  enchanted  when  she  learned 
that  her  true  knight  was  gone,  '  over  the  hills  and  far  away,' 
to  Niagara.  She  now  entered  freely  into  the  amusements  of 
the  place,  as  before  the  recent  event  in  her  history,  Mr. 
Naseby  had  so  followed  and  besieged  her  that  she  had  pre- 
ferred to  lock  herself  up  in  her  own  chamber,  rather  than 
encounter,  at  every  turn,  the  sentimental  squire  of  dames, 
who  was  perpetually  pouring  into  her  unwilling  ears,  in  the 
blandest  of  tones,  honeyed  words  and  speeches,  which  both 
cloyed  and  annoyed  her. 


OF    BOSTON.  273 

*  And  how  many  more  yards  of  ribbon  do  you  propose  to 
wear,  Miss  Catherine  ?  '   said  Nursey  Bristow. 

*  Just  as  many  as  Carmencita  de  Dolores  and  the  otlier 
girls,  the  delicious  darlings !  If  you  could  but  see,  Nursey, 
their  beautiful  black  eyes,  and  hear  their  melting  voices  ! ' 

'As  if  I  do  any  thing  else  all  day  long.  Are  they  not 
forever  and  ever  in  this  chamber,  rolling  about  on  your 
bed  ?  ' 

'  I  grant  that ;  but  then  you  will  not  acknowledge  their 
superlative  charms,  their  overwhelming  attractions.' 

'  I'm  looking  at  their  tumbled  frocks,  Miss.' 

'  Oh  dear  !  Oh  dear  !  I  wish  I  could  make  you  see  them 
as  I  do,  —  so  fascinating,  so  bewitching  !  ' 

Kate  had  loved  Mary  Redmond,  but  every  thing  paled 
before  the  passion  she  had  conceived  for  these  Spanish  girls. 
Their  broken  English  and  pretty  ways  had  captivated  her, 
and  she  poured  forth  on  their  lovely  heads  a  volcano  of  en- 
thusiastic admiration.  Nothing  was  ever  so  fascinating ; 
they  were  called  the  inseparables,  the  trio.  They  walked 
together,  sung  together,  and  would  have  danced  together,  if 
young  America  would  have  permitted  them  ;  but  this  was 
not  allowed,  Kate  being  a  famous  belle  among  the  waltzers. 
So  much  for  youth,  the  pleasant  meetings,  the  bitter  part- 
ings. It  is  the  season  designated  for  enjoyment  in  the  pro- 
gramme of  existence,  but  it  is  questionable  if  even  in  after 
years  more  scalding  tears  are  shed,  than  when  young  hearts 
twined  together  in  an  inconceivably  short  space  of  time,  are 
sundered  —  and  some  old  ones  too. 

Though  set  down  in  the  books  as  a  resort  for  the  very 
gay  and  frivolous,  there  is  always  at  Saratoga  a  substratum 
of  clever  and  studious  men,  who  resort  to  this  watering, 
place  for  relaxation,  and  they,  with  their  pleasant  families, 
give  an  elevated  tone  to  the  society.  Casting  aside  all  the 
cares  attendant  upon  professional  pursuits  for  the  time,  these 
men  look  as  unlike  the  American  of  the  city  as  possible, 
and  impart  to  this  watering-place  an  additional  charm. 


274  THE    BARCLAYS 

While  their  children  amused  themselves,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Barclay  found  very  many  interesting  persons,  with  whom 
they  cultivated  an  agreeable  intercourse,  and  whilcd  away  a 
few  weeks  acceptably  to  themselves  and  others.  Then  came 
the  partings,  and  these  were  heart-rending  to  the  Dolly. 
She  imagined  she  should  never  survive  the  separation  from 
her  Spanish  beauties  ;  and  such  protestations  and  vows  of 
eternal  friendships  were  hardly  ever  before  registered,  and 
such  a  voluminous  correspondence  as  was  threatened,  in 
order  to  alleviate,  if  possible,  the  agonizing  pangs  conse- 
quent upon  the  wide  waters  being  placed  between  herself 
and  the  objects  of  her  idolatry. 

And  they  returned  home.  The  Dolly  resumed  her  studies, 
wafting  many  sighs  to  her  friends  for  a  long  while,  and 
certainly  betrayed  a  remarkable  degree  of  constancy  in  her 
adherence  to  the  memory  of  their  piercing  black  eyes  and 
broken  English.  Mr.  Naseby  withdrew  himself  from  Mr. 
Barclay's  house,  and  rarely  visited  Mrs.  Ashley  ;  he  had 
absented  himself  on  account  of  his  wrongs,  and  betaken 
himself  to  other  haunts,  amongst  which  Mr.  Barton's  house 
was  one. 

Mr.  Richard  was  overjoyed  at  the  return  of  his  favorites, 
and  railed  in  good  set  terms  against  all  such  expeditions  for 
pleasure,  when  persons  had  comfortable  and  luxurious  homes. 
But  his  brother  responded,  that  they  loved  this  home  all  the 
better  for  beholding  how  very  inferior  every  thing  else  was 
in  comparison  with  its  attractions.  Mr.  Richard  declared  his 
belief  that  Mrs.  Ashley  was  at  the  bottom  of  this  expedition, 
its  prime  mover,  and  disliked  her  all  the  more. 

Georgiana  devoted  herself  to  her  father  and  mother.  Their 
forbearance  and  kindness  demanded  licr  deepest  and  most 
abiding  gratitude,  and  she  asked  for  no  other  boon  than  the 
power  to  minister  to  their  welfare  and  happiness.  And 
Grace  was  wrapt  up  in  love  and  admiration  of  her  sister  ; 
as  Georgiana  refused  all  invitations,  so  did  Grace,  and  in 


OF     BOSTON.  275 

their  home  was  centred  all  their  pleasures.  The  Dolly 
insisted  that 

'  They  sat  upon  one  cushion, 
Sewing  of  one  seam  ; ' 

and  that,  in  her  opinion,  Grace  was  an  absurd  creature  not 
to  shine  forth  at  the  balls,  which  she  was  so  fitted  by  nature 
to  adorn  and  beautify.  '  No  sentimental  considerations  shall 
ever  induce  me  to  forego  such  enchanting  pleasures,'  cried 
she.  '  I  should  like  to  annihilate  time  and  space,  and  be- 
come old  enough  to  sally  forth  and  enjoy  myself,  and  really 
believe  I  am  ;  and  if  I  could  but  persuade  my  mother  of  this 
important  fact,  and  extort  from  her  a  permission  to  exhibit 
myself,  would'nt  I  have  that  Maria  Louisa  brocade  ! ' 

Gerald  Sanderson  was  a  most  constant  visitor,  as  well  as 
his  mother,  whose  spirits  were  much  improved  by  her  inter- 
course with  the  Barclays  and  others,  for  the  recluse  was  no 
longer  immured  within  her  own  solitary  home,  but  walked 
abroad  and  interested  herself  ifi  her  fellow-beings,  from 
which  course  she  derived  signal  advantage.  Gerald  worked 
sturdily  on,  and  began,  in  course  of  time,  to  command  the 
attention  of  others  besides  his  employer.  Mr.  Barton  being 
thoroughly  satisfied  with  the  management  of  his  affairs,  soon 
threw  a  vast  many  other  things  into  his  hands,  and  Mr.  Bar- 
clay also  gave  him  business,  and  sent  him  clients,  and  he 
prospered  even  beyond  his  most  sanguine  anticipations. 

And  there  was  outwardly  sunshine,  once  more,  on  the 
heads  of  the  Barclays.  The  world  seemed  to  have  become 
oblivious  of  Georgiana's  sad  story,  no  one  reverting  to  it, 
save  Miss  Serena  Tidmarsh,  who  was  very  unwilling  to  resign 
her  hold  upon  it ;  but  things  pass  so  rapidly  in  succession  in 
America,  that,  if  it  were  not  for  the  unfaltering  efforts  of  a 
few  Misses  Tidmarsh,  almost  all  the  skeletons  in  the  country 
would  be  buried,  and  their  memories  never  resuscitated. 
But  these  amiable  Serenas  have  a  great  tendency  to  adhe- 
siveness, and  grasp  tightly  and  hoard  up  all  scandalous  waifs 
and  strays.     Johnny  Barclay  came  and  went  back,  with  sor- 


276  THE    BARCLAYS 

rowing  steps  and  slow,  to  his  seminary  for  polite  learning, 
sometimes  bringing  home  good  reports  and  oftener  the  re- 
verse, and  '  had,'  as  he  said,  '  capital  fun  with  the  Dolly,' 
who  studied  not  at  all  when  her  brother  and  playmate  was 
at  his  holiday  exercises,  and  which  certainly  did  '  exercise  ' 
Nursey  Bristow. 

So  time  sped  and  years  passed  gently  and  quietly  on, — 
they  were  not  the  happy  ones  of  bj^-gone  days.  The  sense 
of  security  from  the  shafts  of  adverse  fate  had  vanished,  and 
dread  of  ills  which  '  we  wot  not  of  would  hover  around  and 
oppress  at  times  the  beings  on  whom  these  shafts  had  de- 
scended. To  be  sure,  their  gay  friend,  Mrs.  Gordon,  assured 
them  that,  amidst  the  pleasant  people  with  whom  she  had 
lived,  she  never  had  heard  of  this  foreshadowing  of  evil. 
They  enjoyed  the  goods  of  this  life  without  anticipation  of 
troubles,  which  they  could  not,  in  any  event,  avert,  and  died 
not  many  deaths  in  fearing  one.  And  she  thought  this  plan 
decidedly  the  best,  but  at  the  same  time  believed  it  to  be  a 
characteristic  trait  in  the  minds  of  her  countrymen,  the  look- 
ing on  the  shady  side  of  things.  At  any  rate,  there  was  no 
danger  of  Mrs.  Gordon's  perpetrating  the  same  mistake,  for 
she  added,  by  her  cheerfulness,  a  vast  amount  of  pleasure 
wherever  she  appeared  ;  and,  as  she  greatly  frequented  the 
Barclays'  house,  she  was  the  source  of  much  happiness  to 
them. 

Suitors  came  to  Gracy,  but  she  remained  constant  to  her 
first  love-passage,  and  smiled  not  at  all  on  the  pretenders  to 
her  favor.  News  often  came  of  the  dear  Charley;  who  was 
making  rapid  strides  towards  promotion,  and  gave  very 
agreeable  accounts,  in  his  letters,  of  his  favorable  prospects, 
and  hopes  of  return  to  his  friends.  And  this  family  '  kept 
the  peaceful  tenor  of  its  way,'  uninterrupted  by  any  startling 
events,  united  and  tranquil. 


OF    BOSTON.  277 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 


'  I  •will  not  warn  thee  not  to  set  thy  heart 
Too  firmly  upon  perishable  things  ; 
In  vain  the  earnest  preacher  spends  his  art 
Upon  the  theme  ;  in  vain  the  poet  sings.' 

SOUTHEY. 

Mrs.  Barclay  had  received  several  little  presents  from 
Mrs.  Rosevelt,  accompanied  by  short  and  most  affectionate 
notes,  breathing  a  grateful  spirit,  but  there  had  recently 
arrived  a  very  interesting  letter  from  that  lady,  which  she 
read  to  her  family  with  great  satisfaction. 

'  Norfolk, . 


'  I  pray  you  may  not  consider  me,  dear  Mrs.  Barclay,  a 
sadly  ungrateful  creature,  wholly  unmindful  of  the  all-im- 
portant part  you  took  in  procuring  for  me  the  consent  of  my 
parents  to  my  union  with  my  beloved  husband,  and  I  entreat 
you  to  believe  I  shall  never  forget  your  kindness.  Having 
occasionally  sent  you  a  little  memorial  of  my  existence,  I 
now  proceed  to  explain  why  1  have  not  written  more  elabo- 
rately before. 

'  You  well  know  what  a  hurried  marriage  was  mine,  my 
dear  friend,  and  how  many  times  a  certain  musty  proverb 
was  quoted,  which  is  always  served  up  on  such  occasions. 
I  hate  pi'overbs.  I  therefore  resolved,  from  the  first,  not  to 
give  you  any  positive  information  respecting  my  position 
and  feelings,  until  I  had  been  a  wife  a  suificiently  long 
period  to  impart  stability  to  my  statements,  and  to  warrant 
their  immediate  acceptance.  Faithful  to  this  high  resolve,  I 
24 


278  THE    BARCLAYS 

have  awaited  the  termination  of  this  period,  in  order  to  give 
consistency  to  my  account,  and  now  solemnly  aver  that  I  am 
perfectly  happy  ;  indeed,  I  rather  think  I  love  my  husband 
better  now  than  ever,  his  excellent  qualities  having  been 
greatly  developed  since  I  first  knew  him.  Having  thus 
satisfied  you  touching  my  welfare,  I  must  inform  you,  that 
on  arriving  here  we  repaired  to  an  antiquated  building,  sur- 
named  the  castle.  In  this  large  establishment,  presided  over 
by  a  dignified  and  charming  old  Virginia  lady,  we  found  a 
nice  parlor,  chamber  and  dressing-room  prepared  for  us,  and 
which  we  have  ever  since  occupied  with  great  contentment. 

'  This  house  is  filled  with  naval  officers  and  their  wives. 
We  meet  at  meals,  and  in  the  evening  occasionally,  in  a 
large  parlor,  where  there  is  a  piano.  The  society  is  excel- 
lent ;  the  lodgers,  all  arriving  from  different  parts  of  our 
country,  and  all  having  seen  the  world,  have  abundant 
sources  of  conversation,  both  pleasing  and  instructive  —  and 
all  the  common  gossipping  about  Our  neighbors,  which  you 
so  thoroughly  despise,  is  thereby  avoided.  To  be  sure,  my 
husband  and  I  much  prefer  to  pass  our  evenings  together  in 
our  own  parlor,  but  we  occasionally  mingle  with  the  board- 
ers, to  avoid  all  semblance  of  singularity  ;  and  when  he  is 
on  duty,  I  go  to  the  ladies,  and  play  for  them  to  dance  and 
also  sing,  they  professing  to  like  my  humble  efforts  in  either 
way.  There  are  here  some  charming  Mahonesc  women, 
who  have  taught  me  their  beautiful  embroidery,  and  I  am 
busily  employed  in  working  two  lace  shawls  —  one  for  you, 
and  another  for  my  dear  mother. 

'  You  will  smile,  my  dear  friend,  when  I  assure  you  I 
firmly  believe  the  naval  officers'  wives  to  be  the  happiest 
women  in  the  world.  The  fact  is,  that  their  husbands  never 
remain  long  enough  at  home  to  become  wearied  of  their 
society ;  and  then  a  sailor  always  fancies  all  women  to  be 
angels — maybe  never  be  disabused.  Certainly  the  sepa- 
rations are  shocking.  Just  imagine  a  three-years'  absence  ! 
What  shall  I  do  when  my  hour  arrives  ?    I  tremble  while  I 


OF   BOSTON.  279 

write.  There  is  no  end  to  the  amount  of  sympathy  de- 
manded here  for  the  outgoings  and  incomings  ;  this  veiy 
morning  Mrs.  Captain  Barrett,  an  excellent  friend  of  mine, 
is  bewailing  the  departure  of  her  liege  lord  in  an  agony  of 
tears,  in  my  parlor ;  and  precisely  at  the  same  time,  Mrs. 
Lieutenant  Carter  rushes  in  with  the  joyful  intelligence  that 
her  husband  has  reached  the  Ripraps,  —  so  I  demand  of  the 
twain.  Am  I  to  laugh  or  to  cry  ?  Nothing  cao.  surpass  the 
kindness  of  the  officers  to  the  families  of  their  absent  ship- 
mates ;  they  are  even  excellent  nurses.  We  have  had  a 
case  of  sickness  and  death  here,  where  the  attentions  were 
of  the  most  delicate  character  ;  where  men,  who  had  faced 
the  cannon's  mouth,  watched  over  a  little  child  like  women, 
and  thoughtfully  ordered  from  the  pastry-cooks  jellies  and 
confections  for  the  sufferer ;  and  when  he  died,  laid  him 
tenderly  and  feelingly  in  his  coffin,  and  covered  it  with 
flowers. 

'  The  towns-people  are  very  hospitable  and  kind,  and  have 
the  most  agreeable  fashion  of  sending  us,  by  comely  blacks, 
the  most  delicious  lunches,  and  immense  baskets  of  odorife- 
rous flowers,  and  they  also  give  gay  and  pleasant  balls  and 
dinners.  Thus  you  perceive,  dear  Mrs,  Barclay,  how  very 
pleasant  are  the  places  in  which  my  lines  are  cast. 

'  I  send  my  devoted  and  enduring  love  to  your  daughters, 
my  respectful  regards  to  your  husband,  and  pray  you  to  be- 
lieve me,  as  ever,  your  most  afiectionately  attached 

'  Clara  Rosevelt.' 

iMrs.  Barclay  was  highly  pleased  with  the  good  news  of 
her  young  friend's  welfare,  and  expressed  herself  accord- 
ingly. '  The  end  thereof  has  not  yet  arrived,'  said  Mr. 
Richard.  Gracy  bounded  to  him,  and  closing  his  mouth 
with  her  hand,  conjured  him  not  to  say  one  word  in  dispar- 
agement of  her  dear  friend's  marriage. 

'  Now  just  suppose,'  said  the  Dolly,  '  if  I  should  take  it 


280  THE    BARCLAYS 

into  my  head  or  heart  to  give  you  a  handsome  young  officer 
for  a  nephew,  what  would  you  do,  uncle  mine  ?  ' 

'  I  would  immediately  lock  you  up,  Miss.' 

'  But  I  may  yet,  for  all  your  threats.' 

'  Who  would  think  of  you  having  a  lover,'  said  Mr.  Rich 
ard,  —  'a  baby  like  you,  eternally  on  your  father's  knee 
Pshaw  !  you  are  not  yet  out  of  leading-strings.' 

'  But  I  have  had,'  cried  the  Dolly;  and  then,  overwhelm 
ed  with  confusion,  she  hid  her  head  on  her  father's  shoulder 
and  nearly  cried  from  mortification. 

Mr.  Richard  living,  as  he  did,  so  entirely  in  this  family 
and  daily  beholding  its  members,  did  not  perceive  that  the 
youngest  daughter  had  o'ertopped  her  sisters,  and  actually 
appeared  to  be  older  than  they  were.  And  true  it  was, 
moreover,  that  a  foreign  traveller,  of  good  family  and  large 
fortune,  had  demanded  her  hand  of  her  father,  after  the 
fashion  of  his  country.  Mr.  Barclay  had  courteously  refused 
this  alliance,  and  had  hesitated  as  to  the  propriety  of  inform- 
ing he  Dolly  of  this  important  conquest.  On  reflection,  he 
concluded  to  tell  her.  She  heard  him  with  profound  atten- 
tion, and  informed  him  that  she  was  exceedingly  obliged  to 
him  for  refusing  the  gentleman's  offer.  She  confessed  she 
had  a  prejudice  for  being  difTerently  won,  and  would  never 
marry  any  man,  even  if  she  died  an  old  maid,  who  did  not 
ask  her  consent  before  her  fatlicr's.  The  next  time  she  met 
her  rejected  suitor,  she  made  it  a  point  to  turn  her  back 
upon  him  most  indignantly,  which  demonstration  did  not 
appear  to  annoy  him  in  the  least,  and  at  this  the  Dolly  con- 
fessed she  was  vastly  surprised.  Mr.  Richard,  who  had  not 
heard  this  passage  in  his  favorite's  life,  was  very  much 
amused  at  her  spirited  answer,  and  declared  that,  notwith- 
standing his  love  for  her  sisters,  he  really  believed,  if  he 
possessed  a  fortune,  he  should  make  the  gipscv  his  heiress. 

Mrs.  ]?osevclt's  epistle  proved  most  satisfactory  to  all  her 
friends  and  acquaintances,  except  Miss  Serena  Tidmarsh, 
who   having,  Cassandra-like,  prophesied   that  Clara's   mar- 


OF    BOSTON.  281 

riage  would  prove  unhappy,  was  consequently  much  annoy- 
ed that  her  evil  omens  had  not  been  verified.  However,  she 
consoled  herself  with  saying,  '  Well,  Mr.  Rosevelt  will  be 
ordered  to  the  coast  of  Africa  shortly,  I've  no  doubt,' —  and 
thereupon  took  especial  comfort.  But  Mr.  Rosevelt  had 
already  enjoyed,  before  his  marriage,  a  cruise  in  that  engag- 
ingly fascinating  region,  and  contracted  an  irritation  of  the 
nerves  of  his  eyes,  which,  though  not  at  all  disfiguring,  was 
of  sufficient  importance  to  warrant  an  application  for  a  con- 
stant absence  from  the  shores  which  had  proved,  fortunately 
for  him,  not  so  disastrous  as  they  commonly  are. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Meredith,  the  young  clergyman  who 
had  been  presented  to  the   Barclays  at  the  same  time  with 
the  young  officer,  was  a  man  of  remarkable  purhy  of  thought 
and  action,  and  was  noted  for  his  particularly  conscientious 
discharge  of  his  parochial  duties.     His  talents  were  good, 
his  delivery  most  simple  and  impressive,  and,  at  times,  even 
affectingly  touching.     He  was  not  reputed  to  be  a  brilliant 
writer,  yet  his  followers  were  perpetually  enchained  by  the 
unaffected  naturalness  of  his  style  and  the  almost  apostolic 
grace  of  his  manner,  to  which  his  expressive  face  and  noble 
bearing  added  additional  charms.     From  his  earliest  days 
Mr.  Meredith  had  devoted  himself  to  Gospel  teaching  ;  and 
having  completed  his  studies,  he  was  invited  to  preside  over 
a  rather  fastidious  parish  in  Boston.     This  call  was  but  par- 
tially accepted,  as  he  insisted  on  being  granted  the  permis- 
sion to  preach  one  year  before  the  closing  step  should  be 
taken  in  his  ordination,  which  would  bind  him  and  his  people 
irrevocably  together,  —  he  dwelling  solemnly  on  the  impor- 
tance of  this  measure,  as  tending  to  perfect  the  intimate 
relations  between  himself  and  the  people  over  whom  he  was 
to  preside. 

The  parish  was  rather  unwilling  to  grant  this  request,  as  he 
was  considered  well  qualified  to  satisfy  all  its  various  requisi- 
tions ;  but  he  persisted  in  modestly  adhering  to  his  primal 
resolution.     At  the  expiration  of  a  year,  in  which  his  popu- 
24* 


282  THE    BARCLAYS 

larity  had  increased  tenfold,  Mr.  Meredith  informed  the 
parish  that,  in  the  interim,  he  had,  very  unexpectedly,  come 
into  the  possession  of  a  large  fortune  from  the  demise  of  his 
grandfather ;  but  that  this  accession  to  his  temporalities 
would  in  nowise  interfere  with  his  previous  arrangements, 
his  life  having  been  -always  consecrated  to  the  ministry. 
This  state  of  things  would  then  produce  no  change  in  either 
his  vocation  or  feelings,  and  he  had  but  touched  upon  it  in 
order  to  ask  leave  to  associate  with  him,  as  a  colleague,  a 
young  friend,  whose  share  in  the  ministerial  duties  would 
naturally  lighten  his  own  labors,  and  thereby  allow  him  more 
time  to  devote  to  his  people. 

Mr.  Meredith  declared,  that  he  thought  a  vast  deal  more 
good  might  be  effected  by  social  intercourse  with  his  parish- 
ioners tlian  by  the  most  elaborate  discourses;  that  his  own 
highest  aim  in  his  relations  with  them  was  to  understand,  as 
far  as  in  him  laid,  their  wants  and  requirements,  and  to  re- 
spond to  them  in  the  truest  spirit  of  devotion.  By  associ- 
ating with  him  his  friend,  he  was  assured  of  a  corresponding 
acquiescence  and  a  perfect  similitude  of  views  and  opinions, 
and,  far  greater  than  all  beside,  of  acts.  He  said  he  had 
long  conceived  it  to  be  almost  an  impossibility  for  a  clergy- 
man to  write  in  such  a  manner  as  to  perfectly  satisfy  his 
parish,  and  at  the  same  time  to  sec  his  people  freely,  in  all 
their  hours  of  need  ;  that  if  he  were  obliged  to  choose  be- 
tween these  two  alternatives,  he  should  decidedly  adopt  the 
latter,  as  eventually  proving  the  most  useful  and  beneficial. 

Upon  this  request  being  granted,  ]Mr.  ■Meredith  assumed 
the  responsibilities  of  his  position  in  the  most  solemn  and 
impressive  manner,  and  devoting  all  the  energv  of  his  soul 
and  mind  to  the  discharge  of  his  sacred  mission,  became  to 
his  people  their  pastor  in  the  most  perfect  acceptation  of  the 
word.  His  was  no  violent  manifestation  of  zeal  expending 
itself  in  froth  and  fume,  but  the  lucidly  clear  and  gentle 
current  flowing  securely,  refreshing  and  revivifving  its  banks 
as  it  passes  along  slowly  and  pleasantly.     It  was  some  time 


OF    BOSTON.  283 

before  the  apparently  unimpressible  style  of  Mr.  Meredith's 
manner  was  appreciated ;  but  once  allowed  to  take  firm  hold 
on  the  listener,  its  grasp  was  adamantine,  there  was  no  re- 
coil from  it ;  the  hardest  of  hearts  were  softened,  the  rather 
that  his  eloquence  was  insinuating  from  its  extreme  gentle- 
ness than  from  its  brilliancy  or  profound  reasoning,  Mr. 
Meredith's  mission  on  earth  was  to  persuade  sinners  to  walk 
in  the  right  way,  not  to  force ;  and  in  this  he  was  eminently 
successful. 

The  young  clergyman  soon  found  Mr.  Barclay's  house  a 
great  resource  in  his  hours  of  relaxation.  He  was  remarka- 
bly social  and  genial  in  his  feelings,  and  the  society  he  met 
therein  satisfying  him  completely,  he  consequently  became 
a  frequent  guest. 

The  Barclays  all,  with  one  exception,  were  delighted  with 
this  valuable  acquisition  ;  and  the  only  person  who  did  not 
appear  quite  captivated  by  the  gentle  graces  of  the  young 
pastor  was  the  Dolly.  This  juvenile  Missey  had,  at  first, 
quite  admired  Mr.  Meredith,  but  suddenly  rather  avoided 
him,  declaring  him  to  be  all  too  good  for  her.  She  said  he 
looked,  breathed  and  discoursed  goodness,  until  she  was 
fairly  wearied. 

!Mr.  IMeredith,  however,  took  small  note  of  this  dissentient 
voice,  and  was  uniformly  polite  and  attentive  to  her,  but  she 
rejected  his  overtures  rather  significantly,  and  held  herself 
quite  aloof  from  the  gentleman's  attentions.  The  Dolly's 
dislike  on  this  occasion  was  not  very  demonstrative,  —  hers 
usually  were,  —  she  rather  avoided  the  source  of  it  by  evad- 
ing all  advances  to  conversation  and  intercourse.  She  did 
not,  in  her  accustomed  way,  express  it  openly,  but  only  now 
and  then  gave  expression  to  it. 

Mr.  Richard  Barclay  had  lately  become  extremely  capti- 
vated with  the  persuasive  powers  of  the  youthful  divine,  and 
had  actually  purchased  a  pew  in  the  chapel,  in  which  he 
was  constantly  seen,  a  most  assiduous  attendant  upon  the 
service.      The  Dolly  and  Nursey  Bristow  were  often  for- 


284  THE     BARCLAYS 

mally  installed  in  this  pew,  the  Missey  declaring  she  much 
preferred  Mr.  Meredith's  preaching  to  his  talking  ;  his  crown- 
ing virtue,  in  her  eyes,  being  the  shortness  of  his  sermons. 
Nursey  Bristow  thought  every  thing  he  said  and  did,  per- 
fection. 


OF    BOSTON.  285 


CHAPTER  XXXni. 

'  But  I,  I  seek  thee  in  my  heart  of  hearts, 
'\Vliere  none  thine  image  sweet  can  see, 
My  hidden  love,  my  secret  faith  that  parts 
Not  with  my  life,  my  gentlest  girl,  from  thee.' 

Tasso. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  pined  for  her  beloved  son.  She  had 
received  letters  in  abundance,  setting  forth  his  prosperity, 
Mr.  Johnstone's  unvarying  kindness,  and  his  own  certainty 
that  the  time  would  soon  come  when  he  should  once  more 
retrace  his  steps  to  his  native  land,  and  behold  all  he  held  most 
dear  on  earth.  Then,  then  could  he  claim  the  hand  of  the 
delicious  young  creature  to  whom  he  had  devoted  his  heart's 
best  affections ;  then  could  he  ask  her  to  share  his  lot,  and 
bestow  upon  her  all  the  luxuries  of  existence.  And  although 
no  tryst  had  passed  between  Charles  Sanderson  and  Grace 
Barclay,  the  pure  faith  was  deep  rooted  in  his  bosom;  he 
believed  in  her,  his  trust  was  unshaken.  Mrs.  Sanderson 
contributed  greatly  to  this  state  of  feeling  by  her  unvaried 
assurances  of  her  firm  belief  in  the  young  girl's  constancy, 
and  she  kept  her  son  advised  of  all  the  indications  of  deep 
interest  manifested  by  Grace  on  the  reception  of  bits  of 
intelligence  imparted,  not  positively  to  her,  but  to  all  her 
relatives. 

In  this  manner  the  far  distant  exile  was  comforted  and 
consoled  under  his  privations,  and  the  time,  which  would 
otherwise  have  dragged  so  sadly  and  slowly  along,  ^v7is 
bereft  of  a  portion  of  its  weariness  by  the  ministering  hand 
of  the  mother.     And  this  was  of  signal  importance  to  Mrs. 


286  THE    BARCLAYS 

Sanderson  herself,  by  reason  of  keeping  her  mind  occupied, 
and  interesting  her  intensely  in  the  proceedings  of  various 
suitors  for  Grace  Barclay's  favor,  which  the  beautiful  girl's 
attractions  gathered  around  her,  and  to  whom  she  evinced  the 
most  perfect  indifference.  As  these  pretenders  to  the  hand 
of  the  young  girl  appeared  and  disappeared,  Mrs.  Sander- 
son busied  herself  in  advising  her  son  of  their  rebuffs,  and 
communicated  to  him  the  most  exquisite  pleasure.  At  last, 
after  many  disappointments  and  hope  deferred,  sickening 
the  mother's  heart,  there  came  the  joyful  and  blessed 
intelligence  that  the  Charley  was  on  the  eve  of  returning, 
having  etrected  a  prosperous  arrangement  with  the  India 
house  to  transact  its  American  business  in  Boston,  and  was 
also  to  bring  with  him  Mr.  Johnstone,  who  proposed  to  fix 
himself  in  the  city. 

And  soon  the  long-expected  son  arrived,  looking  outward- 
ly quite  like  another  creature,  but  ever  the  same  dear 
Charley  internally.  Though  the  India  sun  had  embrowned 
his  skin  to  such  an  extent,  and  the  addition  of  a  most 
imposing  moustache,  with  nearly  a  foot  to  his  height,  had 
made  him  almost  unrecognisable,  yet  was  he  still  the  self- 
same joyous  creature.  And  such  a  jubilation  as  his  arrival 
created !  His  mother,  in  a  trance  of  delight,  could  not  take 
her  eyes  from  him  ;  his  brother,  beside  himself  with  rapture  ; 
Peter  and  Dinah,  oblivious  of  all  proprieties,  laughing  and 
crying,  dancing  and  singing  ;  Tiger's  successor  scampering 
about  and  barking  tremendously ;  and  Mr.  Philip  Egerton 
touching,  almost  imperceptibly,  Charley's  expanded  palm 
with  the  tips  of  his  frozen  fingers. 

Then  such  loads  of  presents,  scarfs,  shawls,  muslins  and 
sinchaws  !  Mrs.  Sanderson  knew  not  what  to  do  with  her 
treasures,  so  numerous  were  they,  and  Gerald  had  cashmere 
cloth  sufficient  to  make  him  forty  jdressing-gowns  and  as 
many  waistcoats.  In  the  evening  Charley  begged  his  mother 
to  accompany  him  to  Mr.  Barclay's,  in  which  request  she 
joyfully   acquiesced,   Gerald    accompanying   them.      They 


OF    BOSTON.  287 

were  greeted  most  cordially,  and  the  Charley  received  many 
complimentary  notices  of  the  great  change  which  had  trans- 
pired in  his  personal  appearance,  with  the  hope  that  none 
had  been  made  otherwise.  The  family  were  all  content  he 
should  return  exactly  the  same  pleasant  individual  that  he 
departed.  To  one  and  all  the  traveller  brought  some 
memento,  some  curious  India  stuff  or  rarity.  He  seemed 
to  wish  that  all  should  share  his  happiness  and  prosperity. 
No  one  was  forgotten,  Johnny's  fireworks  were  amazing 
from  their  variety  and  beauty,  and  even  Nuisey  Bristow  had 
been  remembered.  Mr.  Richard  declared  his  present  to  be 
the  very  best  of  the  whole  collection,  and  was  truly  over- 
joyed to  see  his  favorite  once  more.  On  being  questioned 
as  to  the  whereabouts  of  his  '  convert,'  Charley  declared  he 
had  left  him  at  the  Tremont  House  ;  he  having  totally  re- 
fused to  accompany  him  home,  but  hoped  shortly  to  have 
the  pleasure  to  introduce  all  his  friends  to  him,  and  particu- 
larly begged  Mr.  Barclay  and  his  brother  would  call  upon 
him,  which  they  agreed  to  do  the  very  next  morning. 

Charley  spoke  of  his  new  friend  in  terms  of  unbounded 
gratitude,  and  could  hardly  have  been  more  enthusiastic  had 
he  known  all  that  Mr.  Johnstone  had  done  for  him  :  that  gen- 
tleman having  kept  concealed  a  large  portion  of  the  benefits 
he  had  conferred  upon  his  young  friend.  This  he  was  able 
to  do  by  making  all  the  extraordinary  preferment  and 
advantage  appear  to  proceed  from  the  head  of  the  India 
house  :  whereas,  certain  bags  of  rupees  had  very  miraculous- 
ly facilitated  the  sudden  gradations  in  the  rise  of  the  young 
merchant.  In  fact,  '  the  convert '  had  become  so  devotedly 
and  earnestly  attached  to  Charles  Sanderson,  that  he  could 
not  live  without  him,  and  had  followed  him  home.  Havino- 
had  no  family  ties  and  no  friendly  relations  in  this  life,  his 
pent-up  feelings,  which  had  been  lying  dormant  for  so  many 
long,  long  years,  were  now  gushing  forth  like  perennial 
springs,  watering  and  refreshing  the  soul  of  this  solitary 
man  to  such  an  extent,  that  he  felt  himself  waxing  better  and 


288  THE     BARCLAYS 

better  in  body  and  mind  as  time  rolled  on.  Now,  all  this 
amelioration  in  his  condition  he  acknowledged  was  to  be 
attributed  to  the  genial  and  blessed  influence  of  Charles 
Sanderson,  Time  was,  when  Mr.  Johnstone  would  not  have 
believed  in  the  existence  of  a  creature  so  perfectly  true  and 
disinterested,  as  the  boy  whom  he  had  found  on  the  sluggish 
waters  of  the  India  seas,  and  who  was  ordained  by  Divine 
Providence  to  conduct  him  to  the  source  of  all  light  and 
life,  a  repentant  and  erring  sinner.  Now,  all  was  changed, 
he  had  become  a  new  man  and  a  regenerated  one,  looking 
upon  things  terrestrial  and  celestial  with  other  eyes  than  the 
jaundiced  vision  of  by-gone  days  ;  existence  had  become 
to  him  a  boon,  for  had  he  not  something  to  love,  something 
to  interest  him  ?  How  different  was  his  condition,  in  these 
awakened  moments,  from  the  morbid  torpidity  of  his  pre- 
vious life  !  Then  he  was  encompassed  with  darkness,  and 
yet  endured  the  torture  of  compunctious  visitings  in  that 
benighted  state ;  now  he  beheld  in  the  perspective  a  bright 
and  shining  goal,  which,  with  careful  perseverance,  he 
hoped,  in  process  of  time,  to  reach,  and  there  present  him- 
self as  a  burnt  offering  in  humiliation  and  supplication. 

And  Grace,  —  how  did  she  feel  on  the  re-appearance  of 
her  child  lover?  She  had  heard  of  his  projected  arrival, 
and  knew  precisely  the  time  he  was  expected  to  come,  and 
watched  and  waited  at  the  window  which  looked  out  upon 
the  waters  of  the  bay,  seeking  to  distinguish  the  white 
canvass  which  would  waft  home  the  youth  whose  image  had 
never  been  supplanted  in  her  breast.  And  how  had  her 
remembrance  fared,  meanwhile,  in  his  heart  of  hearts.? 
This  was  a  question  she  asked  herself  every  hour  in  the  day. 
How  would  he  look  upon  her  ?  The  first  glance  would 
decide  this  oft  mooted  point,  —  the  first  glance  alone.  And 
that  one  soul-searching  look  sufficed  ;  she  knew  he  had  been 
constant,  '  as  the  sun-flower  turns  on  his  God  when  he  sets, 
the  same  look  which  he  turned  when  he  rose,'  so  came  that 
glance  to  her,  and  she  was  content  withal.     It  had  been  a 


OF    BOSTON.  289 

love-song  without  words,  the  passion  of  these  young  people, 
even  such  as  German  composers  have  given  to  enraptured 
ears,  none  the  less  eloquent  for  lacking  sweet  voices.  No 
tryst  had  been  made,  no  promise  given,  no  vows  pledged,  yet 
were  they  perfectly  assured  of  the  constancy  of  each  other 
from  the  rapturous  moment  their  eyes  met. 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Barclay  and  his  brother  called  upon 
Mr.  Johnstone.  They  found  him  overflowing  with  grateful 
reminiscences  of  his  first  meeting  with  Charles  Sanderson, 
which  succeeding  years  had  not  diminished ;  indeed,  he 
declared  he  should  never  have  re-visited  his  native  land  but 
for  that  meeting.-  He  now  hoped,  he  said,  to  finish  his  days 
in  his  own  country,  and  he  considered  his  having  encounter- 
ed that  youth  to  be  a  signal  interposition  of  Providence  in 
his  own  behalf.  He  wished  to  know  his  family  and  all  his 
friends  intimately,  to  form  new  social  ties,  to  enter  freely 
into  a  world  he  had  obstinately  and  blindly  rejected,  being 
now  convinced,  through  the  teachings  of  his  youthful  friend, 
that  it  was  not  the  hateful  place  he  had  morbfdly  pictured  it 
to  be.  He  desired  to  live  with  his  fellow-men,  to  share  their 
sorrows  and  their  joys,  and  was  convinced  that  this  was  the 
supreme  will  of  his  Creator,  otherwise  he  would  not  have 
been  sent  on  earth.  He  owed  this  revolution  in  his  senti- 
ments to  the  benign  and  genial  influence  of  his  preserver,  — 
for  thus  he  should  ever  continue  to  call  him,  —  and  he  hoped 
and  trusted  to  profit  most  beneficially  from  his  farther  inter- 
course with  all  that  young  man's  friends. 

The  brothers  were  greatly  pleased  with  this  interview, 
and  entreated  Mr.  Johnstone  to  visit  tbem  freely,  and  to  make 
himself  at  home  with  them,  which  he  promised  to  do,  and 
shortly  availed  himself  of  their  profiered  hospitalities. 

Mr.  Johnstone  went  to  see  Mrs.  Sanderson,  and  gladdened 
her  heart  with  good  tidings  of  the  excellence  of  her  son,  his 
pleasant  prospects,  and  the  confidence  which  was  placed  in 
him  by  his  commercial  correspondents  abroad.  He  begged 
permission  to  be  considered  quite  a  member  of  her  family, 
25 


290 


THE    BARCLAYS 


and  declared  that,  having  so  long  possessed  the  inestimable 
treasure  of  Charles  Sanderson's  companionship,  she  must 
not  engross  too  much  of  his  time,  or  he  should  be  made 
quite  wretched,  Mrs.  Sanderson  promised  to  awardto  him 
a  full  share  of  her  darling's  leisure,  and  they  parted  mutual- 
ly pleased  with  each  other. 

Mr.  Johnstone  immediately  purchased  an  elegant  house  in 
the  vicinity  of  Mr.  Barclay's  establishment,  and  furnished  it 
in  a  style  of  oriental  magnificence  ;  and,  as  he  had  brought 
home  with  him  some  native  servants,  the  illusion  seemed 
quite  perfect.  How  the  poor  creatures  were  to  withstand  the 
inclemency  of  the  winter  season  seemed  extremely  dubious; 
but,  after  gathering  up  a  large  quantity  of  snow,  which  tiiey 
called  white  wool,  and  crying  their  eyes  out  because  it 
melted,  and  freezing  their  fingers  besides,  they  concluded  to 
remain  in  the  well  warmed  house,  and  never  more  stir 
abroad.  To  this  resolve  they  religiously  adhered,  and 
prospered  accordingly.  Mr.  Johnstone  immediately  com- 
menced giving  a  series  of  beautiful  dinners  which  proved 
extremely  popular,  and  as  he  had  a  storehouse  of  India 
rarities  at  his  disposal,  and  was,  moreover,  very  generously 
and  gallantly  inclined  to  bestow  them  upon  the  ladies,  there 
seemed  to  be  no  bounds  to  the  favor  he  found  in  their  bright 
eyes.  And  all  this  he  seemed  to  enjoy  with  intense  delight, 
and  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  entertainments  as  if  he  had 
never  been  present  at  anv  before,  which  was,  in  fact,  the 
case,  so  that  they  possessed  for  him  all  the  charm  of  novelty. 
Mr.  Johnstone  insisted  that  Charles  Sanderson  should  always 
assist  him  in  performing  the  duties  of  a  courteous  host,  and 
would  fain  have  enlisted  him  as  an  occupant  of  his  little 
palace  ;  but  to  this  arrangement  the  young  gentleman  object- 
ed, as  he  declared  his  mother  would  be  actually  jealous  if  he 
abandoned  her. 

And  Mr.  Philip  Egerton  even  condescended  to  honor  Mr. 
Johnstone  with  his  august  presence  at  the  festivities  proffered 
by  such  a  generous  and  hospitable  host,  even  though  he  made 


OF    BOSTON. 

no  return,  his  own  wonderful  exploit,  in  that  way,  having  satis- 
fied him  for  the  rest  of  his  natural  life,  Mrs.  Sanderson  was 
drasvn  out  also  on  the  plea  of  '  its  only  being  a  bachelor's 
party,'  but  to  this  was  superadded  her  gratitude  for  all  the 
kindness  the  host  continually  showered  upon  her  son. 

!\Ir.  Johnstone  devoted  himself  to  Grace  Barclay,  making 
her  the  most  magnificent  and  costly  presents,  and  distinguish- 
ing her,  upon  all  occasions,  above  her  peers.  A  short  time 
after  Charles  Sanderson's  return,  he  waited  upon  Mr.  Bar- 
clay, and,  in  his  accustomed  frank  and  straight-forward  man- 
ner, declared  his  undying  love  for  his  daughter ;  that  it 
had  never  faltered  for  a  moment,  during  his  long  absence  ; 
that  the  hope  of  obtaining  her  hand  had  been  the  beacon- 
light  of  his  India  life,  and  the  primary  cause  of  all  his 
exertions  ;  that  he  had  solemnly  adhered  to  his  promise,  and 
never  breathed  one  word  of  his  entire  devotion  into  her  ears. 
He  begged  permission,  now,  that  his  prospects  were  bright 
and  cheerful,  and  that  he  felt  he  could  bestow  upon  this  idol 
of  his  soul  the  same  luxuries  she  enjoyed  at  home,  to  be 
allowed  to  speak  to  her,  to  ask  her  to  share  his  lot.  Mr. 
Barclay,  who,  when  Charles  Sanderson  was  pennyless,  had 
resolved  to  give  his  consent  to  his  union  with  his  daughter, 
withheld  it  not,  but  graciously  and  frankly  accepted  him 
as  his  son,  and  bade  him  try  his  fortune  with  Grace  im- 
mediateh".  This  being  speedily  effected  satisfactorily,  the 
youthful  pair,  looking  supremely  happy,  presented  themselves 
before  the  contented  father  and  mother,  and  received  their 
fervent  benedictions. 

]\Irs.  Sanderson  declared  that  the  measure  of  her  satis- 
faction was  entire  and  complete.  Gerald  was  enchanted, 
Mr.  Richard  delighted  in  the  welfare  of  his  favorite,  and  Mr. 
Egerton  forgot  himself,  on  this  felicitous  occasion,  into  the 
expression  of  something  very  much  like  '  capital  match, 
good  fellow,  pretty  girl,  excellent  stock,'  pronounced  in  a 
most  formal  and  emphatic  manner,  but  clearly  enunciated, 
as  Peter  and  Dinah  could  have  testified,  had  they  not  them- 


292  THE     BARCLAYS 

selves  been  assiduously  engaged  inmaking,  what  the  Poles 
call  an  hurrah's  nest,  in  such  a  loud  and  furious  manner,  that  a 
respectable  thunder-clap  would  have  passed  over  their  black 
heads  unheeded.  Indeed,  the  young  gentleman,  the  hero  of 
this  uproar,  was  almost  torn  piecemeal  by  his  warm-hearted 
humble  friends. 


OF    BOSTON.  293 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

'  The  lust  of  gold  succeeds  the  lust  of  conquests, 
The  lust  of  gold,  unfeeling  and  remorseless, 
The  last  corruption  of  degenerate  man.' 

Johnson. 

Mr.  Egerton  had  been  indisposed  several  times  during 
the  season,  and  there  had  been  reports  of  sudden  seizures 
with  cramps  and  violent  pains,  which  he  strenuously  denied, 
and,  in  truth,  dragged  himself  slowly  down  to  his  accus- 
tomed resorts,  when  he  had  really  no  longer  strength  and 
power  to  do  so,  in. order  to  prove  that  he  was  not  an  invalid. 
In  vain  Mrs.  Sanderson  begged  and  entreated  her  brother 
to  remain  at  home,  and  take  some  little  care  of  himself, 
but  he  always  refused  distinctly,  and  seemed  to  receive  all 
hints  respecting  attention  to  his  own  health  in  the  light  of  per- 
sonal affronts. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  knew  not  what  to  do.  Gerald  had  never 
renewed  any  intimacy  with  his  uncle  sufficient  to  warrant 
any  interference  in  his  affairs,  and  Charley,  keeping  himself, 
as  much  as  possible,  out  of  Mr.  Egerton's  presence,  dared 
not  open  his  lips  to  him.  The  secluded  life  of  Mr.  Egerton 
precluding  all  access  to  him,  Peter  was  the  only  medium 
through  which  his  sister  could  obtain  any  positive  informa- 
tion of  his  state  and  condition.  It  appeared,  on  inquiry, 
that  Mr.  Egerton  had  very  sleepless  nights  accompanied 
witli  great  suffering,  which  he  had  for  a  long  time  alleviated 
with  opium,  but  that  failing  to  produce  eflect,  his  pain  had 
become  intense,  yet  all  the  while  he  would  have  no  medical 
25* 


294  THE    BARCLAYS 

assistance.  At  last,  the  accounts  of  his  servant  becoming 
more  serious  every  day,  Mrs.  Sanderson  resolved  to  speak. 
Mr.  Egerton  was  excessively  otFended  at  l)er  venturing  to 
give  any  adVice  wliatever,  and  declared  his  fixed  resolve 
not  to  apply  to  the  family  physician.  He  said  he  had  no 
faith  in  medical  men,  and  would  not  see  any  of  them. 

This  slate  of  things  continuing,  greatly  to  his  sister's 
sorrow,  she  knew  not  what  to  do,  when  one  morning  Peter 
called  her  before  daylight,  and  informed  her  that  he  had 
been  watchin"  all  night  at  his  master's  door,  having  heard 
him  groan  at  eleven  o'clock,  and  not  daring  to  enter,  he 
could  endure  the  suspense  no  longer,  and  had  come  to  beg 
her  to  go  and  discover  the  cause  of  his  illness.  Mrs.  San- 
derson arose,  and  hastily  throwing  on  a  dressing-gown, 
reached  her  brother's  chamber  to  find  him  insensible.  She 
sent  immediately  for  medical  assistance,  and  in  a  short 
time  several  of  the  faculty  made  their  appearance,  and 
having  applied  all  necessary  restoratives,  pronounced  Mr. 
Egerton's  case  liopeless.  They  said  he  had  sutfered  for 
years  with  an  internal  complaint  which  was  incurable  ;  that 
it  had  reached  its  crisis,  and  that  no  one  could  tell  what 
he  must  have  endured  of  pain  and  agony.  It  appeared  that 
he  had  always  understood  the  exact  nature  of  his  malady, 
and  believing  that  nothing  could  relieve  him,  had  never 
tried  any  thing.  On  being  restored  to  sensibility,  the  sick 
man  asked  how  long  he  might  live  ;  and  said  he  had  been 
for  years  awaiting  his  final  hour;  that  he  was  prepared, 
and  desired  only  to  see  Mr.  Barclay.  His  question  of  the 
duration  of  his  life  was  answered  by  the  doctors  that  he 
might  live  a  day  or  two,  not  more,  and  with  this  assurance 
and  some  palliative  remedy,  the  gentlemen  took  leave. 
Mrs.  Sanderson  remained  at  her  brother's  bedside,  and  after 
a  quiet  sleep  of  an  hour  he  awoke,  seemed  quite  relieved 
of  pain,  and  again  desired  to  see  Mr.  Barclay.  She  sent 
instantly  for  him  ;   he  came,  and  she  left  them  together. 

Mr.  Egerton  was  very  weak,  but  calm  and  collected;  he 


OF    BOSTON.  295 

welcomed  his  visitor,  and  requesting  him  to  be  seated,  he 
said  :  '  You  are,  my  dear  sir,  the  only  person  I  respect 
sufficiently  in  this  world  to  invite  to  my  deathbed,  to  hear 
a  species  of  confession,  which,  if  I  were  a  Roman  Catholic, 
would  be  made  to  my  confessor;  and,  in  fact,  you  do  now 
stand  very  much  in  that  position  towards  me.' 

Mr.  Barclay  interrupted  Mr.  Egerton,  and  entreated  him 
not  to  tax  his  strength  by  commencing  any  long  narrative, 
but  he  replied,  *  He  must  do  this  now,  or  never.'  He  re- 
sumed, '  You  well  know,  my  dear  Sir,  that  my  deceased 
father  had  expended  nearly  the  whole  of  the  remains  of  his 
once  large  property  before  he  departed,  having  lost  in  manu- 
factories immense  sums,  the  proceeds  of  India  ventures 
which  he  had  invested,  as  it  proved,  injudiciously.  In  point 
of  fact,  my  father  left  little  else  than  this  estate,  yet,  as 
he  imagined  me  to  be  immensely  wealthy,  this  gave  him 
no  uneasiness,  being  convinced  that  poor  Emma  and  her 
children  would  never  want  for  any  thing  while  I  had  the 
means  to  provide  for  them.  When  his  will  was  opened,  it 
had  been  executed  many  years  previous,  it  was  found  that 
he  had  bequeathed  this  estate  to  me,  and  the  residue  of  his 
property  was  to  be  divided  between  my  sister  and  myself. 
Now,  there  was  next  to  nothing  left  besides  the  old  house, 
and  Emma  and  her  husband  acquiesced  in  my  opinion  that 
this  state  of  things  should  be  kept  a  profound  secret,  and 
so  it  was,  and  has  been,  up  to  this  moment.  I  came  home, 
after  many  years'  absence,  with  the  reputation  of  being  a 
Croesus,  a  false  estimate  often  made  of  returned  Chinamen, 
and  finding  that  the  renown  of  my  reputed  gold  had  pen- 
etrated into  the  heart  of  my  native  city,  and  that  all  I  could 
do,  or  say,  my  people  would  never  be  disabused  of  their 
belief  in  my  wealth,  I  tacitly  consented  to  their  bestowal 
of  a  colossal  fortune  upon  me.  There  was  something  so 
captivating  to  my  perverted  imagination  in  hearing,  even 
the  small  boys  whisper,  as  I  passed  along  the  crowded 
streets,  "  There  goes  the  rich  Mr.  Egerton,"  that  I  could 


296  THE    BARCLAYS 

not  persuade  myself  to  renounce  the  gratification  it  afforded 
me.  I  believe  scholarly  attainments  and  literature  have 
more  dominant  power  in  Boston  than  any  where  else  in  my 
country,  and  that  we  are  even  apt  to  over-rate  what  we 
possess  in  that  way ;  but  wealth,  all-glittering  wealth,  is 
still  worshipped,  —  alas!  all  too  much,  and,  as  I  now  lie 
here,  the  world  receding  from  my  view,  I  deplore,  in 
anguish  of  spirit,  my  own  insane  love  of  even  its  shadow. 
None  other  have  I  ever  possessed  than  a  vain  show  ;  for 
my  fortune,  even  while  in  Canton,  had  been  over-rated, 
and  just  before  I  returned  home  I  lost  two  valuable  ships, 
one  on  the  North-west  coast,  and  another  on  her  pas- 
sage to  America,  which  gave  nearly  the  finishing  blow 
to  my  finances.  But  when  I  once  more  trod  my  native 
shores,  and  discovered  what  a  personage  the  fancied  pos- 
session of  a  large  fortune  had  made  me,  the  respect  with 
which  it  environed  me,  and  the  great  consequence  it  im- 
parted to  my  position,  I,  who  had  no  scholarly  tastes,  or 
literary  pursuits,  and  no  decided  talent,  succumbed  under 
the  temptations  ofl'ered  me  by  the  above  state  of  things, 
and  consented  to  be  a  living  lie.  AVould  that  1  had  died 
ere  I  thus  degraded  myself. 

'  And  this  has  been  to  me  a  living  death.  My  downfall 
was  terrible.  A  man  of  honor  once,  I  felt  myself  an  im- 
postor; I  looked  no  honest  man  fairly  in  the  face,  and  not 
being  willing  to  bear  the  outward  semblance  of  a  cheat,  I 
vowed  to  hold  my  head  higher  and  more  haughtily  than  any 
one  else  in  the  community,  and  hide  my  degradation  from 
mankind  if  I  could  not  from  myself.  And  thus,  just  in  the 
ratio  that  I  was  lowered  in  my  own  private  estimation,  did 
I  appear  cold,  haughty  and  defiant  to  the  world.  I  have 
held  small  intercourse  with  my  fellows,  have  denied  myself 
the  gratification  of  all  social  and  genial  intercourse,  which, 
I  really  believe,  I  should  have  grcatlv  cnjoved,  and  absent- 
ed myself  even  from  your  charming  abode  for  this  same 
reason.     The  weight  of  my  own  duplicity  presses  too  heavily 


OF   BOSTON.  297 

on  a  once  honorable  spirit.  And,  alas!  what  has  not  been 
lost,  —  lost  to  me  by  my  voluntary  alienation  from  poor 
Emma  and  her  noble  boys.  This  alone  seems  to  me  price- 
less. Knowing  I  could  do  nothing  more  for  them  but  secure 
a  shelter  under  the  old  roof-tree  in  the  dwelling  which,  in 
fact,  partly  belonged  to  them,  and  being  unwilling  to  behold 
their  many  wants  and  privations  without  possessing  the  pow- 
er to  gratify  them,  which  under  the  circumstances  was  im- 
possible, I  withdrew  from  their  presence,  and,  retreating 
into  my  den,  in  a  corner  of  the  old  house,  left  the  rest  of  it 
to  my  heirs.  Thus  I  continued  to  dwell  within  myself,  — 
no  pleasant  domicii,  I  can  assure  you,  —  and  closed  up  all 
the  issues  of  my  heart;  for  I  have  one,  whatever  may  be  as- 
serted to  the  contrary. 

'  My  heirs,  forsooth  !  poor  fellows,  I  sicken  at  my  own 
delusion  !  And  what  have  I  gained  by  it .'  Scandal  and 
detraction,  —  "  The  old  miser"  my  title.  Oh  !  many  a  time 
and  oft,  have  I  longed  ardently  to  throw  myself  on  my  dear 
sister's  neck,  and  reveal  the  sad  tale  of  my  internal  suffer- 
ings,—  God  knows,  I  had  bodily  enough,  —  but  they  were 
as  naught,  in  comparison  with  the  mental.  I  absolutely,  at 
times,  hungered  and  thirsted  to  hear  her  sympathizing  voice 
pouring  the  balm  of  commiseration  into  my  soul.  But 
pride,  indomitable  pride,  has  colored  and  distorted  my  whole 
career  on  earth,  and,  instead  of  a  deathbed  surrounded  by 
loving  hearts,  breathing  forth  prayers  for  my  salvation,  I  am 
doomed  to  depart,  unmourned  and  unregretted.  When  I 
reflect  how  different  might  have  been  these  my  last  hours, 
but  for  the  leviathan  absorbing  my  whole  being  ;  when  I 
think  that,  but  for  the  contemptible  renown  of  possessing 
filthy  dross,  I  bartered  away  my  soul  to  the  prince  of  dark- 
ness, I  bow  down  my  once  loftily  raised  head,  and,  in  sack- 
cloth and  ashes,  repent  me  my  sins.  I  am  even  willing, 
reserved  and  retiring  as  I  have  been,  as  a  slight  extenuation 
of  my  offences  against  God  and  man,  to  point  a  moral  and 
adorn  a  tale  as  a  beacon-light  to  my  countrymen,  —  "the 
proud  man's  contumely  "  has  disappeared,' 


298  THE    BARCLAYS 

Mr.  Egerton's  '  confession  '  was  not  made  without  many 
interruptions,  and  almost  as  soon  as  he  had  finished,  another 
violent  attack  occurred,  and  then  he  fell  into  a  drowsy  state, 
in  which  he  remained   many   hours.     !Mrs.  Sanderson,  her 
sons,  and   Mr.   Barclay  surrounded  his   bed,  but  could  not 
perceive  that  he  in  any  way  recognised  them.     Peter  and 
Dinah  they  were  necessitated  to  order  out  of  the  chamber, 
so  obstreperous  were  they  in  their  demonstrations  of  grief 
at  '  the  iMassa's  illness.'     At  twelve  that  night  he  breathed 
his  last,  so   quietly  that   none  knew  when  his    spirit   took 
flio-ht.     Mrs.  Sanderson  remained  with  the  body  until  morn- 
ing  dawned,  and  then   retired  to  her  own  room,  but  not  to 
sleep.    She  retraced  all  the  steps  in  her  past  life,  and  pon- 
dered over  them,  she  tried  to  remember  if  she   had  ever,  in 
word  or  deed,  given   cause  for  the  evident  estrangement  of 
this  dead   brother,  —  her   only  one  !     She  forced   herself  to 
recapitulate  all   the  events  of  their  disunited  existence,  and 
the  result  of  her  communings  with  herself  was,  that  if  she, 
perchance,  had   been   more  courageous   and  less  timid,  she 
might  have  made  more  impression  on  the  hardened   nature 
of    her    sole     relative,   and    she    blamed    herself  severely, 
and  not  Philip  Egerton.     Now,  this  was  ]\Irs.  Sanderson's 
characteristic,    tlie  casting    of   all    blame   on    herself,    and 
exonerating  her  brother.     Perhaps,  a  more  fearlessly  ener- 
getic person   might    have    succeeded   better,    but    with   the 
unrevealed  secret  which  tiie  departed  had  just  divulged  to 
Mr.   Barclay,  —  a   load   on   his  soul, —  it   docs  not  appear 
probable  his  sister  could   have  cfFected  any  radical  change 
in  the  character  of  a  man  who  idolized,  even  the   fabulous 
reputation   of   great    wealth,    to    the   extent  of  abandoning 
kith    and  kin    for    its    supposititious  possession ;    and    even 
with     but    a    bare     sufTiclency    for    daily    wants,    assumed 
the    semblance   and  bearing    of  a   nabob,  and  was  willing 
to  incur  the   disgrace   of  even  being   universally  consider- 
ed an  uncommon   miser  for  Mammon's    sake.     While  that 
ever    carefully  guarded   secret   remained   undivulged,    Mr. 


OF    BOSTON.  299 

Egerton,  was  like  a  man  in  mailed  armor  clad,  or  the 
Neapolitan  entangled  in  the  fisher's  net,  the  meshes  con- 
stantly firowin"  smaller  and  smaller  as  time  waned.  There 
could  have  been  no  release  whatever  from  his  self-imposed 
thraldom. 

Death,  even  unaccompanied  bv  troops  of  agonized  rela- 
tives, mourning  friends  and  sorrowing  survivors,  is  always 
and  ever  a  solemn  messenger,  performing  his  melancholy 
errand  impressively.  Neither  Gerald  nor  Charles  Sanderson 
loved  their  departed  uncle.  And  wherefore  should  they  ? 
He  had  assuredly  never  given  them  any  cause  to  do  so,  for 
love  comes  not  at  duty's  call,  but  affection's  thrall  ;  yet  they 
nevertheless  felt  solemnly  and  impressively  that  the  grim 
tyrant  had  entered  the  old  house  and  '  ta'en  away  its  lord.' 
And  as  he  rarely  deals  his  blows  singly,  they  trembled  ; 
for  who  might  be  the  next  victim  ?  The  darkened  rooms, 
the  whispering  voices  of  the  attendants  on  funereal  obse- 
quies, the  silence  and  hushed  footsteps  of  all  around,  combin- 
ed to  arouse  sad  reflections  on  the  instability  of  human 
affairs,  and  to  teach  that  '  this  is  no  continuing  city.' 

On  examination,  a  few  indistinct  lines  were  found,  traced 
with  a  pencil,  in  which  Mr.  Egerton  expressed  his  desire  to 
be  buried  as  privately  as  possible,  and  requesting  that  his 
sister,  her  sons  and  servants  should  alone  follow  him  to  his 
last  resting-place  ;  but  if  Mr.  Barclay  himself  should  feel 
disposed  to  pay  his  memory  the  respect  of  joining  his  rela- 
tives and  seeing  him  home,  he  begged  him  to  do  so.  Ac- 
cordingly, every  thing  was  ordered  in  the  most  unpretending 
manner  ;  Mr.  Meredith  performing  the  ceremony  devoutly 
and  acceptably,  and  the  last  of  the  proud  and  lofty  Philip 
Egerton  was  laid  in  the  Copp's  Hill  Cemetery,  and,  side  by 
side,  he  and  his  father  slept.  ]\Irs.  Sanderson  was  unspeak- 
ably afiected,  as  she  stood  on  the  hallowed  spot  containing 
all  her  kindred,  and  turning  from  it  threw  herself  into 
Gerald's  arms,  and  was  borne  fainting  to  her  carriage  by 
her  two  sons. 


300  THE    BARCLAYS 

A  week  had  elapsed  when  Mr.  Barclay  wrote  a  note  to 
Mrs.  Sanderson,  and  requested  an  uiterview  with  her  and 
her  children.  Tliis  being  accorded,  lie  saw  tliem,  and  then 
came  the  explanation  of  all  the  glaring  incongruities  in  their 
deceased  relative's  conduct,  the  origin  of  the  lights  and  the 
shadows.  They  were  all  sadly  pained,  as  they  listened  to 
this  strange  revelation,  and  Charley,  who  had,  times  without 
mind,  thought  his  uncle  '  an  old  miser,'  now  reproached 
himself  bitterly  for  this  aspersion  of  his  character,  and,  at 
the  same  moment,  rejoiced  he  had  never  given  any  expres- 
sion to  iiis  opinions,  or  allowed  others  to  do  so  in  his  pres- 
ence. Gerald,  also  considering  himself  to  have  erred  in 
the  same  way,  was  equally  penitent,  and  thev  all  felt,  moth- 
er and  sons,  lliat  they  never  had  appreciated  Mr.  Egerton 
until  the  causes  of  his  apparent  cold-heartedness  were  re- 
vealed to  them.  Thcv  remembered  his  failings  only  to  be- 
stow ]jity  and  commiseration  upon  them,  and  prayed  that  the 
sin  of  his  all-absorbing  pride  might  be  pardoned,  in  view 
of  the  melancholy  conflicts  and  sufferings  it  had  engendered 
during  his  lono;  life. 

The  brothers  were  in  nowise  disappointed  respecting  the 
loss  of  fortune  ;  they  had  never  anticipated  any  inheritance 
from  their  uncle,  other  than  the  old  house  :  indeed,  he  had 
constantly  told  them  that  a  few  thousands  to  their  mother 
would  be  all  they  would  enjoy  of  his  fortune.  They  had 
ever  known  that  they  must  win  their  own  bread,  and  had 
done  so  entirely  independent  of  their  relative,  and  they 
perceived  and  acknowledged  the  wisdom  of  his  proceedings. 
Mrs.  Sanderson,  imagining  that  her  brother  had  taken  a 
decided  dislike  to  her  sons,  however  incomprehensible  this 
might  appear  to  her,  supposed  he  would  leave  his  immense 
fortune  to  some  public  establishment,  charitable  or  literary, 
to  found  a  name  for  himself.  Then  greatlv  was  she  gratifi- 
ed when  she  discovered  that  no  such  prejudice  existed,  and 
that  the  deceased  had  done  full  justice  to  the  excellent 
qualities  of  her  darlings. 


OF    BOSTON.  301 

Thus  it  appeared,  that  this  disinterested  family  was  more 
satisfied  without  a  rich  inheritance  than  many  who,  reach- 
ing the  goal  of  all  their  aspirations,  attain  the  height  of 
what  they  believe  to  be  the  culminating  point  of  human 
prosperity.  There  is  one  thing  incontrovertible, —  that 
nothing  excites  such  a  revolution  in  habits  and  feelings  as 
the  sudden  accession  of  immense  wealth,  the  recipients  be- 
coming changeable  and  unsettled,  nothing  satisfying,  they 
launch  forth  into  a  sea  of  trouble  and  expense,  rarely  re- 
membering the  poor,  and  deserting  all  their  old  haunts  for 
new  ones.  At  least  the  Sandersons  were  not  subjected  to 
any  temptations  of  this  sort,  and  things  took  their  wonted 
course.  It  was  certainly  surprising  to  behold  how  little  Mr. 
Egerton  was  missed  in  his  own  household  ;  how  soon  its 
members  became  accustomed  to  the  vacant  seat  at  the 
board  where  he  had  presided  so  long  in  solemn  state  ;  and 
how  much  his  departure  had  increased  the  list  of  his  sister's 
acquaintances.  Persons,  who  had  never  before  entered  the 
doors,  called  and  made  kind  offers  of  bearing  her  company 
in  her  solitude,  and  begged  her  to  walk  abroad  and  breathe 
the  air,  and  thus  recruit  her  strength,  and  elevate  her  de- 
pressed spirits.  All  this  was  pleasant  enough,  and  possess- 
ing the  charm  of  novelty,  she  gradually  and  imperceptibly 
revived.  Her  children  were  devoted  to  her,  and,  both 
having  the  means  of  adding  luxuries  and  enjoyments  to  her 
existence,  were  truly  a  blessing  to  her. 

Mr.  Barclay's  whole  family  were  also  an  inappreciable 
comfort  to  her,  paying  her  all  sorts  of  delicate  attentions. 
Mr.  Egerton's  insurance-office  mates,  missing  him  from  his 
old  arm-chair,  clutched  eagerly  at  the  newspapers  he  had 
so  pertinaciously  retained  during  his  life,  and,  having  thor- 
oughly discussed  him  in  all  his  bearings,  they  repeated, 
what  they  had  said  five  hundred  times  before,  that  he  was 
a  haughty,  proud,  and  cold-hearted  man,  having  never  a 
friend  in  the  wide  world;  but  this  time,  they  were  constrain- 
ed to  omit  their  favorite  appellation  of  *  The  old  miser.' 
26 


302 


THE   BARCLAYS 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


'  It  is  our  nature's  strong  necessity, 

And  this  tiie  soul's  unerring  instincts  tell ; 
Therefore,  I  say,  let  us  love  worthily, 

Dear  child,  and  then  we  cannot  love  too  well.' 

SOUTUEY. 

Mr.  Barclay  was  passing  through  the  hall,  and  just  about 
to  leave  his  house  for  the  day,  when  he  beheld  Mr.  Meredith 
sitting  in  his  own  little  room,  apparently  waiting  his  coming. 
He  instantly  entered  and  greeted  him  most  cordially.  As 
this  gentleman  was  in  the  habit  of  coming  at  all  hours,  on 
errands  of  charity  and  other  purposes,  ^Ir.  Barclay  was  not 
surprised  to  find  him  there  thus  early  ;  but  he  was  greatly 
astonished  at  the  excited  and  agitated  state  of  his  usually 
calm  and  collected  friend.  Mr.  Meredith  seated  himself, 
and  after  a  long  pause  in  which  he  was  apparently  arrang- 
ing his  thoughts  in  order  to  frame  a  proper  and  set  speech, 
he  burst  forth,  and  in  uncontrollable  emotion,  requested  Mr. 
Barclay  to  bestow  upon  him  the  hand  of  his  daughter  in 
marriage,  declaring  that  his  future  happiness  entirely  de- 
pended on  the  answer  he  should  receive. 

'  My  dear  sir,'  said  Mr.  Barclay,  '  need  I  say  what  entire 
and  perfect  satisfaction  such  an  event  as  really  possessing 
you  for  a  member  of  my  family,  would  give  both  myself 
and  wife  r  I  know  nothing  that  could  surpass  the  pleasure 
we  both  should  feel  in  having  the  comfort  and  the  honor  of 
calling  you  our  son  :  but  it  cannot  be.  I  confess  that  I  am 
amazed  you  have  not  seen  that  another  has  gained  the  aiTec- 
tions  of  my  child ;  to  be  sure,  nothing  has  as  yet  been  posi- 


OF    BOSTON.  303 

tively  arranged,  for  I,  in  my  selfishness,  have  not  dared  to 
think  of  parting  with  my  daughter,  and  therefore  have  pro- 
crastinated the  evil  moment  as  much  as  possible.  I  well 
know  the  time  must  come  and  shortly,  yet  every  month 
seems  to  me  a  grateful  respite.' 

'  I  thank  you,  my  dear  sir,'  said  Mr.  Meredith,  '  for  your 
frankness,  and  for  the  flattering  way  in  which  you  have 
announced  to  me  this  unexpected  intelligence.  It  is,  indeed, 
distressing  to  me,  and  will  require  all  the  stock  of  forti- 
tude I  pcssess  to  enable  me  to  bear  up  against  this  sad  blow 
to  my  future  hopes  of  happiness.' 

'  I  cannot  avoid  expressing  my  surprise,'  said  Mr.  Barclay, 
'  that  you  have  permitted  yourself  to  nurse  such  hopes  in  the 
face  of  such  an  open  and  declared  demonstration  of  atTection 
as  exists  between  Grace  and  our  dear  Charley  Sanderson.' 

'Grace,'  cried  Mr.  Meredith,  and  hastily  jumping  out  of 
his  chair,  he  caught  Mr.  Barclay  by  the  hand  and  ex- 
claimed, '  I  have  not  asked  for  Grace  ;  you  have  another 
daughter,  —  Catherine,  Catherine  ! ' 

'  What ! '  cried  Mr.  Barclay  ;  '  Kate  !  my  Dolly  !  the  child  ! 
This  cannot  be  possible  !  I  beg  your  pardon  ;  but  this  is  too 
absurd  to  be  credited.' 

'  Absurd  or  not,  my  dear  sir,  'tis  nevertheless  true,  most 
true.' 

'  But  think,  I  entreat  you,  of  the  folly  of  taking  such  a 
volatile  creature  ;  such  a  romping,  waltzing  young  thing  to 
a  parsonage  ;  reflect  for  a  moment  upon  the  manifest  im- 
propriety of  such  a  procedure.' 

'  I  have  looked  upon  this  aspect  of  the  case  and  every 
other,'  said  the  lover,  '  and  I  firmly  believe  that  any  man 
who  can  inspire  Catherine  Barclay  with  a  profound  attach- 
ment, may  mould  her  character  precisely  as  he  pleases. 
The  basis  of  that  character  is  admirable.  I  am  no  blinded 
adorer  of  imaginary  perfections ;  I  think  I  see  her  exactly 
as  she  is ;  and  you  will  excuse  me  when  I  say,  that  I  really 
believe  the  position  of  a  clergyman's  wife  in  the  faithful 


304  THE    BARCLAYS 

discharge  of  all  the  onerous  duties  incumbent  upon  it,  is 
precisely  the  one  for  her.  Your  daughter  is  an  enthusiastic 
creature,  overflowing  with  energy  and  feeling.  These  qual- 
ities, once  well  directed  into  safe  and  proper  channels,  will 
produce  the  most  felicitous  results.  Nothing  of  any  impor- 
tance was  ever  attained  in  this  world,  in  my  opinion,  without 
enthusiasm.  I  know  it  is  the  fashion,  in  New  England,  to 
think  that  a  man  must  be  deficient  in  correct  judgment  who 
possesses  this  quality  :  my  own  observation  goeth  to  the 
contrary  entirely.  Let  it  be  tempered  with  discretion,  and 
every  thing  good  and  great  may  be  anticipated.' 

'  But,'  said  Mr.  Barclay,  '  you  have  undoubtedly  heard 
her  say  many  a  time  and  oft,  that  nothing  would  induce 
her  to  marry  a  clergyman,  and  be  obliged  to  visit  all  the 
old  women  in  the  parish.' 

'  Yes,  many  a  time  and  oft,  as  you  observe,  but  I  am 
none  the  more  discouraged  for  that.  Let  me  try  to  win 
your  daughter,  I  pray  and  conjure  you,  my  dear  friend,  and 
she  will  do  that  very  thing  cheerfully.' 

'But  there  certainly  must  be  some  latent  cause  for  the 
security  you  almost  appear  to  manifest  on  this  occasion. 
Have  you  any  reason  to  believe,  that  if  I  consent  to  part 
with  my  child,  she  will  ever  herself  consent  to  leave  me  and 
her  mother  ?  ' 

'  We  are  positively  sure  of  nothing  in  this  changing  world  ; 
but  if  you  will  make  me  supremely  happy  by  granting  me 
your  permission  to  urge  my  suit,  I  shall  then  be  better  able 
to  answer  you.  You  must,  indeed,  excuse  my  apparent  bold- 
ness in  my  seeming  certainty  of  your  gracious  assent ;  but 
you  expressed  yourself  so  flatteringly  towards  me  when  you 
thought  me  the  suitor  for  jMiss  Grace's  hand,  that  I  trust  to 
your  acknowledged  benevolence  for  my  excuse.' 

Upon  this,  Mr.  Barclay  laughing  heartily  at  his  own  mis- 
take, desired  Mr.  Meredith  to  go  and  try  his  fortune  with 
the  Dolly  ;  '  and,'  said  he,  '  you  need  be  in  no  hurry,  I 
will  await  your  return  here,  and  write  some  letters  mean- 
while.' • 


OF     BOSTON.  305 

So  he  sat  down  to  his  desk  to  write,  but  did  very  little 
else  than  ruminate  upon  the  extraordinary  event  which  had 
just  transpired.  That  the  creature  whom  he  had  dandled  on 
his  knee,  without  perceiving  that  she  had  grown  up  to  be 
a  woman,  had  found  a  lover  so  entirely  after  his  own  heart, 
—  how  he  hoped  he  might  be  after  hers,  —  was  indeed  mar- 
vellous ;  and  although  he  would  gladly  have  retained  her 
many  years  longer,  yet  still  he  could  not  help  believing 
that  Mr.  Meredith  was  right  in  his  estimate  of  her  character, 
and  the  beneficial  results  which  would  accrue  from  the 
course  of  life  she  must  necessarily  lead  with  such  a  partner. 
Kate  had  always  been  a  source  of  great  anxiety  to  her 
father,  the  impulsiveness  of  her  nature,  so  dangerous  in  its 
uncontrolled  state,  requiring  the  greatest  possible  judgment 
in  the  selection  of  a  husband,  and  the  perfect  assurance  that 
he  always  felt  that  there  would  be  absolutely  none  at  all 
evinced.  Now,  indeed,  there  was  hope  in  its  pleasantest 
colored  picture,  and  he  prayed  that  i\Ir.  Meredith  might  be 
successful.  How  long  his  musings  continued,  it  is  not  well 
to  relate  ;  it  might  be  asserted  by  critics,  that  the  damsel 
yielded  all  too  soon ;  but  certain  it  was  that  the  door  of  the 
little  office  was  gently  opened,  and  Mr.  Meredith  entered, 
leading  the  Dolly,  who,  throwing  herself  into  her  father's 
arms,  hid  her  blushing  cheeks  on  bis  shoulder. 

Mr.  Barclay  was  inexpressibly  affected  with  joy  and  grati- 
tude to  God  for  his  signal  mercies,  his  prayers  for  the  wel- 
fare of  his  child  having  thus  been  benignly  answered.  He 
sent  immediately  for  her  mother,  who  came  and  rejoiced 
with  him,  and  warmly  welcomed  her  new  and  unexpected 
son-in-law. 

When  a  little  composure  had  been  restored  to  the  actors 
in  this  scene,  ]\Ir.  Barclay  asked  the  Dolly,  slily,  how  she, 
who  had  always  vowed  she  would  never  marry  a  clergy- 
man, had  consented  to  change  her  mind.  She  replied  most 
frankly,  that  she  had  ever  been  trying,  by  such  assertions, 
to  fortify  her  mind  in  her  disappointment ;  that  she  no 
20* 


306  THE    BARCLAYS 

longer  scrupled  to  avow  she  had  loved  Mr.  Meredith  a  long 
while;  and  also,  as  she  supposed,  hopelessly.  'I  have  not 
looked  as  if  I  wore  the  willow,'  said  she,  '  and  resolved  no- 
body should  ever  say  I  did  ;  but  if  he  had  not  chosen  me  I 
should  have  been  an  old  maid,  and  you  would  have  had  the 
pleasure  of  my  intellectual  society  for  ever  and  a  day.  I 
hope  you  will  acknowledge,  my  dear  father,  what  an  escape 
you  have  had  ;  I  should  not  have  been  the  angel  that 
Georgy  is  by  any  means.' 

'  I  am  convinced,  my  child,'  said  her  mother,  '  that  you 
have  chosen  most  admirably  for  your  welfare  here  and 
hereafter.' 

'  Will  it  be  the  same  for  Mr.  Meredith  ? '  queried  the 
young  lady.' 

'  It  is  in  your  power  to  make  it  so,'  replied  her  mother. 

'  I  do  nothing  but  ask  questions,  I  know,'  said  Mr.  Barclay, 
'  yet  I  must  frankly  declare  myself  very  curious  about  this 
new  chapter  in  my  history,  and  wish  to  inquire  how  my 
son-in-law,  that  is  to  be,  was  so  seemingly  sure  of  his 
success  ? ' 

'  He  must  answer,  himself,'  said  the  Dolly. 

'I  grounded  my  little  faith,  it  was  no  more,'  replied  the 
gentlemen,  '  on  the  constant  assurances  mentioned  by  Miss 
Barclay,  and  her  rather  decided  demonstration  of  perfect 
indilTerencc  to  me.  If  it  had  not  been  so  positive,  I  should 
not  have  doubted  ;  but  this  is  sometimes  a  measure  adopted 
by  very  young  ladies  as  a  mask  for  concealing  deeper  feel- 
ings, and  on  tliis  hint  I  took  comfort  and  spake.  The  re- 
sult has  proved  I  was  not  wrong  in  my  conjectures,  and 
nothing  surpasses  my  gratitude  for  the  gift  of  her  affections, 
but  my  entire  thankfulness  to  my  Creator  for  vouchsafing 
me  such  a  treasure.' 

'  The  Dolly  will  have  very  important  duties  to  perform,' 
said  her  father,  '  and  she  must  begin  to  think  of  them  deeply 
and  seriously.' 

'  I  shall  make  no  promises,'  said  the  betrothed,  '  lest  I  may 


OF    BOSTON.  307 

break  them  when  I  go  to  the  parsonage,  which  will  not  be 
for  a  long  time  ;  I  shall  then  let  you  all  see  what  a  shining 
light  I  shall  be,  or  otherwise.' 

'  I  can  bide  my  time  to  see  it  show  forth,'  said  her  lover, 
*  which  I  truly  hope  will  not  be  for  a  long  time,  for  I  have 
perfect  faith  in  my  future  wife,  and  am  thoroughly  con- 
vinced she  will  be  a  model  for  all  clergymen's  spouses.' 

'It's  an  excellent  plan,'  said  the  Dolly,  'to  begin  with  a 
vast  deal  of  faith  and  love  in  married  life,  so  much  of  it  gets 
frittered  away  on  the  roadside.' 

'  And  pray  where  did  you  get  all  this  matured  expe- 
rience .' '  said  her  mother. 

'  Not  in  your  house,  my  own  blessed  mother,'  replied  the 
daughter,  embracing  her  most  tenderly. 

'  Well,'  said  Mr.  Barclay,  '  I  must  go  immediately  and 
impart  this  good  news  to  Uncle  Richard.' 

'  And  he  will  not  believe  you,  father,  for  he  has  told  me 
over  and  over  again,  that  nobody  would  ever  take  me  for 
better  or  worse.' 

So,  Mr.  Barclay  went,  and  his  brother  was  indeed  de- 
lio-hted.  '  Just  the  very  best  person  in  the  wide  world,' 
exclaimed  he,  '  to  manage  that  young  thing  ;  she  will  never 
know  a  word  of  the  matter,  but  she  will  be  ruled  gently, 
most  judiciously  ;  all  her  superabounding  qualities  pruned, 
she'll  become  a  glorious  creature.  Mr.  Meredith  has  chosen 
admirably,  in  my  opinion,  and  she,  even  better.  What  a 
blessing  to  you,  my  dear  brother  John,  to  have  such  a  son- 
in-law  ;  but  you  deserve  this  and  every  good  thing  that  can 
be  showered  on  your  excellent  head.  You  are  doing  good 
from  the  time  you  open  your  eyes  in  the  morning  till  you 
close  them  at  night,  and  I  must  say  I  do  like  to  see  a  few 
rewards  for  such  excellence  on  earth.' 

'But,'  replied  his  brother, 'just  look,  Dick,  how  I  am 
favored,  and  many  of  my  friends  so  much  better  than  my- 
self are  pining  in  desolation ;  I  am,  indeed,  most  grateful.' 

'  You  always,  in  your  humility,  underrate  yourself,  John. 


308  THE    BARCLAYS 

Now  if  I  were  in  your  place,  I  should  be  as  vain-glorious 
of  my  good  deeds  as  a  peacock ;  but  then  I  never  was  the 
least  like  you  or  ever  shall  be.' 

'  You  have  excellent  qualities,  my  beloved  brother,  but  I 
will  not  say  you  might  not  be  better,  because  you  seem  to 
desire  to  hide  those  you  already  possess.  Now,  for  my 
sake,  please  let  them  be  more  visible.' 

'  Well,  well,'  said  Mr.  Richard,  '  Fll  think  about  it,  if  it 
will  make  you  any  happier  ; '  and  so  they  parted. 

Miss  Tidmarsh  said  Mr.  Meredith  was  crazed,  and  Jane 
Redmond,  in  her  fiercest  tones,  proclaimed  him,  far  and 
wide,  to  be  a  fool.  '  A  pretty  clergyman's  wife  Kate  Bar- 
clay will  make  ! '  she  screamed  ;  '  why,  the  whole  parish 
will  be  in  fits  before  the  first  anniversary  of  their  marriage. 
She'll  affront  every  body, —  a  saucy  thing  that  she  is  ! ' 

'  So  much  for  ordaining  such  ver}^  young  men  over 
parishes;  they  always  make  such  injudicious  choices  in 
their  wives,'  said  Miss  Serena. 

'  We're  not  much  given  to  sin  in  the  matter  of  juvenili- 
ties in  New  England,'  replied  Jane  ;  '  a  man  hardly  efVer 
gets  an  office  here  of  any  kind,  until  he  is  gray-haired.' 

'And  past  being  either  useful  or  ornamental,'  said  i\Iiss 
Tidmarsh. 

'  That's  the  reason  why  all  the  youngsters  run  away  from 
us,'  said  Jane,  '  I  remember  nobody  could  persuade  me  I 
had  seen  the  Governor  of  Maryland,  when  I  had  been  pre- 
sented to  quite  a  handsome  young  fellow,  who  was  accom- 
panied by  an  old  broken-down  individual,  and  I,  with  my 
settled  eastern  notions,  took  the  latter  for  the  real  presence. 
But  to  return  to  Kate,  —  What  possesses  her  to  marry  and 
doze  away  her  days  in  a  parsonage  ?  ' 

'  The  first  ofler,  probably,'  replied  I\Iiss  Tidmarsh. 

'  No  such  thing  ;   it's  the  second,  I  know.' 

'I  don't  believe  a  word  of  this,'  snarled  Miss  Serena, 
'  You,  who  have  no  faith,  Jane,  in  any  one,  alwavs  appear 
to  give   credence   to  whatever  those   hateful  Barclays  say. 


OF    BOSTON.  309 

You  would  never  contradict  the  most  improbable  story,  if 
it  proceeded  from  that  family.' 

'  I  shall  ever  award  them  one  precious  quality,  Serena. 
They  are  truly  honest  people,  and  may  be  believed,  what- 
ever else  I  may  assert  in  their  disparagement ;  and,  moreover, 
they  never  mentioned  any  thing  of  the  sort  to  me,  as  they 
are  very  honorable.' 

'  Miracles  will  never  cease,  Jane.  Your  praising  the 
Barclays !  On  what  sweet-scented  grass  have  you  walked 
lately  ?  ' 

But  just  as  these  devoted  friends  were  beginning  to  squab- 
ble, Mrs.  Tidmarsh  tottered  into  the  room,  green-bonneted, 
and  announced  that  she  had  just  completed  a  sonnet  on 
Kate's  engagement,  which  remarkably  novel  circumstance 
diverted  her  amiable  daughter's  wrath  into  its  legitimate  chan- 
nel, and  the  poor  old  mother  suffered  for  Jane's  misdeeds. 


310  THE    BARCLAYS 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 


•  Soft  eyes  look'd  love  to  eyes  that  spake  again, 
And  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage  bell.'  —  Byron. 

AxD  there  were  to  be  two  weddings  at  the  Barclays  ! 
One  is  enough  in  all  reason  to  fill  a  house  with  confusion 
and  excitement,  —  but  two  !J  Mrs.  Newton  declared  that  she 
entrenched  herself  behind  mountains  of  bride-cake  and  wed- 
ding favors  ;  that  marriage  being  an  event  the  happy  couples' 
fancy  can  never  be  repeated,  should  be  celebrated  with  great 
solemnity  and  vast  rejoicing  :  and  so  she  governed  herself 
accordingly,  and  gave  orders  for  grand  festivities,  as  on  this 
eventful  occasion  the  felicities  were  duplicated.  Xo  objec- 
tions were  made  to  these  proceedings.  Grace  and  Charley 
were  both  charmingly  sympathetic  and  gay.  The  Dolly  had 
always  declared  that  when  she  was  married  there  should  be 
wondrous  doings,  and  Mr.  Meredith  delighted  in  happy  faces. 
Mr.  Richard  perfectly  agreed  with  his  sister,  making  only 
one  reservation,  that  older  people  should  do  such  tilings  more 
quietly.     To  which  Mrs.  Barclay  cheerfully  assented. 

Mrs.  Ashley  could  never  be  sufficiently  busied,  so  anxious 
was  she  that  the  plenishing  of  the  two  young  creatures'  ward- 
robes and  households  should  be  faultless,  and  to  which  she 
contributed  most  judiciously,  saying,  that,  as  in  her  opinion 
no  one  should  marry  a  second  time,  every  thing  should-  be 
done  to  commemorate  this  important  step  in  a  woman's  life. 

'  But,'  said  Gracy,  '  will  you  never  marry,  dear  Auntie, 
with  your  innumerable  adorers  .'  How  can  you  manage  ? 
You'll  be  obliged  to  surrender  at  discretion  some  time  or 
other.' 


OF    BOSTO.X.  311 

'  Never,  my  Gracy,  I  shall  never  marry  mortal  man.' 

'  What  an  irrevocable  decree  !  Now  Auntie  mine,  I  should 
have  infinitely  more  faith  in  your  assertion,  if  it  were  not  so 
positively  and  solemnly  asseverated,  as  I  can't  help  thinking 
that  you  have  been  revolving  the  subject  in  your  own  mind, 
and  must  have  encountered  some  pros  and  cons.' 

'  You're  a  saucy  young  chit,  Miss  Gracy,  though  you  are 
to  be  so  sliortly  a  matron.' 

'  I  know  seven  who  stand  ready  to  fall  at  your  feet,  and  in 
fact,  I  never  saw  any  one  but  my  uncle  Richard  who  did  not 
allow  you  were  a  most  fascinating  creature.  Charley  thinks 
you  quite  adorable.' 

'  That  is  when  he  can  snatch  a  moment  from  your  attrac- 
tions to  bestow  his  thoughts  upon  any  one,  and  as  to  Mr. 
Richard,  he  is  intolerable  ;  and  if  he  were  not  your  dear 
father's  brother,  I  should  not  condescend  to  even  speak  to 
him.  He's  positively  rude,  and  does  not  promise  any 
improvement.' 

'  Uncle  Richard  does  not  mean  all  he  says,  dear  Auntie,  so 
do  not  trouble  yourself  about  him  a  bit.' 

'  That  I'm  very  far  from  doing,  Gracy.' 

'  And  have  you  heard,  Auntie,  that  our  Mr.  Naseby, 
having  knocked  at  all  the  doors  in  the  city,  has  at  last 
had  one  opened  to  him,  and  is  positively  betrothed  to  Miss 
Araminta  Cora  Barton  ?  He  called  last  evening  to  impart 
this  felicitous  bit  of  news  to  my  mother,  and  begged  she 
would  honor  him  by  visiting  his  wife  on  his  marriage.  It 
appears  he  was  so  extremely  anxious  to  insure  her  presence, 
that  he  quite  overlooked  the  old  grudge  against  Georgv  and 
I,  and  even  condescended  to  entreat  us  to  do  the  same,  say- 
ing.that  as  the  lady,  whom  he  pictured  in  glowingly  extrava- 
gant terms,  was  not  precisely  in  our  circle,  he  should  esteem 
our  notice  an  especial  favor,  so  we  graciously  accorded  our 
royal  consent.  Gerald  told  me  that  the  first  day  Mr.  Naseby 
dined  there,  he  knocked  down  a  centre-table  covered  with 
the  most  ill-assorted  and  expensive  collection  of  porcelain. 


312  THE  BARCLAYS 

and  Mrs.  Barton  after  he  departed  declared  she  never  again 
wished  to  set  her  two  eyes  upon  him.  But  it  appears  her 
daughter  thouErht  otherwise,  and  has  consented  to  make  the 
swain  of  the  many  weeping  willows  happy.' 

Mr.  Barclay  having  been  consulted  as  to  his  pleasure 
touching  the  bridal  preparations,  declared  the  women  must 
manage  them  all  their  own  way,  and  whatever  they  did  he 
should  like.  He  was,  however,  by  no  means  so  complaisant 
when  Mr.  Johnstone  proposed  that  Charley  and  Gracy  should 
live  with  him  ;  then  he  fairly  rebelled,  and  said  that  no  child 
of  his  should  accept  a  home  from  any  one  but  himself.  In 
the  first  place,  he  thought  young  people  should  always  begin 
and  blunder  themselves  into  good  housekeepers,  —  there  was 
no  other  phrase  to  be  used  ;  and  secondly,  he  had  erected 
houses  expressly  that  when  his  daughters  married,  he  might 
install  them  in  their  own  dwellings,  and  every  time  he  looked 
out  of  his  own  windows  he  could  behold  their  residences,  the 
homes  of  those  he  best  loved  in  the  world.  This  he  declared 
was  to  be  the  great  solace  of  his  old  age,  if  God  spared  his 
life.  So  Mr.  Johnstone's  proposition  was  gratefully  declined, 
Charley  promising  to  sec  him  every  day,  and  Gracy  as  often 
as  possible. 

Mr.  Johnstone  was  truly  oriental  in  his  magnificent  pro- 
ceedings. He  vowed  that  Gracy  should  outshine  all  the 
brides  present,  and  to  come  in  silver  and  gold  muslins  and 
shawls  and  diamonds.  The  bride  elect  protested  that  she 
was  too  young  to  wear  many  of  his  gifts,  but  he  would  not 
hear  her  ;  he  would  not  listen  to  any  objections.  He  said  he 
had  no  relatives  in  the  wide  world,  that  he  had  been  beatins; 
about  it  without  having  found  an  anchorage  for  his  afiec- 
tions,  and  now  that  this  desideratum  had  been  discovered,  he 
should  avail  himself  of  it  in  its  most  enlarged  acceptation, 
and  would  not  allow  any  objections  to  be  made.  So  he  had 
his  way,  and  inost  people  thought  it  was  quite  a  pleasant 
one,  Gracy  imagining  all  her  great  favor  in  Mr.  Johnstone's 
eyes  proceeded  from  a  very  beloved  source. 


OF    BOSTON.  313 

In  the  dear,  delightful  library,  brilliantly  illuminated,  the 
conservatory  redolent  of  flowers,  the  birds,  awakened  by  the 
glittering  of  lights,  singing  pocans  of  rejoicing,  and  sur- 
rounded by  all  they  held  most  dear  on  earth,  were  these 
sisters  united  to  the  possessors  of  their  affections.  Mr.  Mer- 
edith performed  the  ceremony  for  Charles  Sanderson  and 
Grace  most  impressively,  and  then  his  colleague  joined  the 
hands  of  the  young  pastor  and  Kate  Barclay.  Uncle  Richard 
was  jubilant  upon  this  festive  occasion  ;  he  declared  that 
weddings  being  proverbially  sad,  this  should  be  '  contrary- 
wise.'  Mrs.  Sanderson  wept  notwithstanding  the  autocrat's 
imperial  edict,  but  they  were  tears  of  joy  she  shed.  Mrs. 
Ashley,  more  charming  than  ever,  quite  captivated  the 
nabob,  who  was  immoderately  gay.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gordon 
and  their  sons  added  more  than  their  usual  quota  to  the 
general  enjoyment.  Gerald  exerted  himself  to  his  utmost 
capacit}'  ;  and  Georgy,  deeply  and  truly  participating  in  the 
happiness  of  her  sisters,  cast  aside  all  her  own  tribulations, 
and  appeared  the  gayest  of  the  gay.  Nursey  Bristow  was 
too  happy  to  be  very  demonstrative  ;  and  Peter  and  Dinah, 
in  full  dress,  not  being  able  to  be  noisy,  and  rather  overawed 
by  the  assembled  company,  contented  themselves  with  such 
an  infinite  variety  of  contortions  and  twitches,  signifying  de- 
light, that  they  were  almost  frightful  to  behold,  and  caused 
Johnny  Barclay  nearly  to  expire  with  laughter.  In  fact,  that 
young  gentleman  rather  devoted  the  whole  of  his  time  to 
them  until  supper  was  announced,  and  then  so  vigorously 
addressed  himself  to  the  boy  consumption  of  its  superabound- 
ing  delicacies,  that  a  most  profound  somnolency  overwhelm- 
ing him,  he  was  fain  to  take  refuge  in  the  arms  of  Morpheus 
on  a  sofa,  where  he  said  '  he  slept  like  a  top  until  the  next 
morning.'  The  heir  apparent  having  been  entirely  over- 
looked in  the  gaieties,  he  was  left  to  his  slumbers  and  lost 
half  the  evening  thereby.  The  succeeding  week  there  were 
receptions  and  collations,  which  the  rich  and  the  poor  shared 
alike,  and  '  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage  bell.'  At  its  ex- 
27 


314  THE    BARCLAYS 

piration  the  young  brides  removed  to  their  own  dwelhngs, 
and  took  upon  themselves  the  important  state  of  budding 
housekeepers.  Then  came  house-warmings  and  friendly 
dinners,  in  which  ^Irs.  Ashley  and  the  Nabob  shone  pre- 
eminent. 

'  I  never  saw,'  said  Miss  Serena  Tidmarsh,  '  two  brides 
look  worse  —  did  you,  Jane  .-  ' 

'  I  am  constrained  to  differ  from  you,  Serena  ;  and  de- 
clare thev  were  most  lovclv.  You  know  I  always  tell  the 
truth.'  And  so  she  did,  as  far  as  her  own  individual 
opinions  went,  but  she  had  no  scruples  whatever  in  repeat- 
ing any  scandal,  however  absurdly  false  it  might  be,  ema- 
nating from  others. 

'  And  that  old,  uglv,  green-eved  monster,  the  Nabob, 
how  devoted  he  was  to  Mrs.  Ashley,  .Tane.  She'll  have  him, 
I've  no  doubt.      What  a  sacrifice  for  such  a  ])retty  woman ! ' 

'  Now,  don't  you  think  you  might  be  tempted,  even  you, 
Serena,  by  that  little  palace,  and  the  muslin  turbans  of  his 
retainers,  to  say  nothing  of  rubies  and  emeralds?  ' 

'  My  dear  Serena,'  said  Mrs.  Tidmarsh,  '  please  seal 
these  packages.' 

Miss  Tidmarsli  turned  and  looked  contemptuously  upon 
envelopes  covered  with  sprawling  cupids,  hearts,  and  darts, 
and  containing  two  cpithalamiums  wliich  she  had  composed 
on  what  it  was  her  pleasure  to  denominate.  The  Twin  ]\Iar- 
riages.  ^Irs.  Tidmarsh  stated  that  she  did  not  exactly  think 
these  productions  quite  creditable  to  herself,  inasmuch  as 
sonnets  being  her  forte,  she  could  not  be  expected  to  suc- 
ceed as  well  in  other  things.  Miss  Serena  dutifully  advised 
her  mother  not  to  make  a  fool  of  herself  by  sending  them 
at  all,  but,  as  she  had  just  escaped  the  infliction  of  Mrs. 
Tid marsh's  appearance,  in  the  best  green  bonnet  at  one  of 
the  wedding  visits,  she  consented  to  a])[)end  her  seal  to  the 
missives. 

It  appeared  that  the  venerable  lady  had  thought  it  abso- 
lutely incumbent  upon  her  to  pay  her  respects  to  the  brides, 


OF    BOSTON.  815 

and  was  just  sallying  forth  when  the  dirty  little  handmaiden, 
who  served  her,  thought  she  had  better  advise  Miss  Serena 
of  this  important  fact,  which  was  accordingly  done,  and 
poor  Mrs.  Tid marsh  was  constrained,  by  her  daughter's 
violent  resistance  to  remain  at  home.  To  do  her  justice, 
she  did  not  retaliate  upon  the  little  tale-bearer,  as  she  con- 
sidered the  child  had  troubles  enough  without  this  addition 
to  their  number. 

'  Mrs.  Charles  Sanderson's  dresses  are  magnificent,'  said 
Miss  Serena ;  '  and  what  affectation  and  pretension  in  the 
Dolly  to  start  with  so  much  simplicity  of  attire  —  she  who 
always  declared  that  nothing  should  surpass  the  splendor  of 
her  wardrobe ! ' 

'  Her  dresses  are,  nevertheless,  very  costly,  but  not  so 
showy  as  her  sister's.  Did  you  examine  them,  Serena  ? 
I  rather  liked  this  in  a  clergyman's  wife,  and  was  inclined 
to  give  her  due  credit  for  good  taste  and  proper  discretion.' 

'  What  do  you  suppose  the  Nabob  gave  to  Charley, 
Jane  ?  ' 

'  Nothing,  for  the  young  man  refused  a  splendid  gift, 
Serena,  and  in  money  also;  he  said  he  could  give  his  wife 
the  luxuries  she  had  enjoyed  at  home,  from  the  proceeds  of 
his  business,  and  that  he  most  gratefully  declined  any  addi- 
tion to  his  income.  Now  I  call  that  miraculous,  in  this 
dollar-loving  age.' 

'And  the  estate,  the  old  house,  Jane,  they  say  it  will  all 
sell  immensely  well.' 

'  That's  true,  but  silly  ]\Irs.  Sanderson  has  not  yet  sold 
the  property  from  respect  to  her  brother's  memory,  though 
she  has  had  great  offers.  They  say  the  Nabob  proposes 
putting  up  an  immense  pile  of  superb  warehouses,  in  order 
to  invest  some  of  his  lacks  of  rupees,  and  no  doubt,  wishes 
to  pay  double  to  favor  the  Sandersons.' 

'  So  the  Sandersons  will  be  very  rich,  after  all,  Jane. 
What  tuck  some  people  have  ! ' 

'-  Yes,  they'll  be  like  the  old  Manhattan  burgher,  who  so 


316  THE    BARCLAYS 

comically  enough  took  to  liis  bed,  thinking  to  die  of  starvation, 
and  awoke  the  next  morning  a  very  Croesus,  the  corporation 
having  run  a  street  through  his  cabbage-garden.  We  see 
many  such  changes  every  day  in  America  ;  the  Sander- 
sons' property  has  risen  famously.' 

'  The  Barclays  are  favored  indeed  by  the  smiles  of  the 
fickle  goddess.' 

'  You  forget  Georgy,  Miss  Serena.' 

'I  don't  at  all,  but  things  die  away  here.  I  did  my  very 
best  to  keep  that  story  alive,  I'm  sure  ;  but  now  it  seems 
almost  forgotten.  I  sometimes  think  it  was  a  myth  got  up 
for  effect,  and  to  make  a  splash,  and  that  Georgy  Barclay 
never  was  married  to  any  one.'    , 

'  Her  husband  will  turn  up  one  of  these  days,  I  know, 
Serena ;  I  believe  in  my  heart  her  story,  and  so  do  you,  if 
you  would  but  confess  it.  I  hope  he'll  prove  a  wretch,  just 
to  punish  that  family  for  appearing  to  be  so  much  better 
than  their  neighbors.' 

'  They're  a  proud  set,  Jane.' 

'Not  at  all  proud,  —  just  remember  who  visits  them. 
I  am  sure,  in  all  their  recent  festivities,  they  must  have 
clothed  as  well  as  fed  some  of  their  guests.  They  care 
nothing  for  what  is  called  fashion,  and  choose  for  them- 
selves ;  it  must  be  confessed  education  is  everv  thino;  there. 
I  don't  like  them  and  never  shall  ;  but  I  sec  these  things 
with  my  two  eyes,  and  seeing  is  believing.' 

'I  really  think  you  praise  the  Barclays  to  tcaze  me,  Jane.' 

Mrs.  Tid marsh  sat  looking  at  these  two  disagreable  per- 
sons, and  pondering  in  her  own  mind  what  manner  of  bond 
of  union  this  could  be  which  was  so  perpetually  threatened 
with  fractures  ;  for  the  twain  seemed  ever  on  the  eve  of 
discord,  and  what  Jane  Redmond  called  a  'blow-up'  was 
constantly  so  near,  that  the  old  lady  wondered  they  did  not 
explode  altogether. 

'Yes,'  resumed  Jane,  '  the  Barclays  do  choose  for  them- 
selves.     Most   unfashionable    people  visit  there,  and  very 


OF    BOSTON.  317 

poor  ones  too,  but  then  there's  always  something  in  them, 
some  talents  or  great  or  good  qualities,  with  very  few 
exceptions ;  it  may  be  safe  to  say,  whoever  you  meet  there 
is  worth  knowing.' 

'I'm  sure  there  are  exceptions,  Jane,  and  I  would  not 
give  them  the  entree  to  my  house.' 

'  But  you  arc  not  a  Barclay,  Serena  ;  you  can't  uphold 
any  one  ;  it's  just  as  much  as  you  can  do  to  get  along  in 
society  yourself.  That  family  have  the  will  and  the  way, 
and  no  silly  and  vulgar  fears  about  being  intimate  with 
merit,  however  obscure  it  may  be.  The  Barclays  know 
their  own  position  to  be  thoroughly  respectable,  and  can 
afford  to  be  gracious  to  thos*e  on  whom  fortune  has  frowned. 
Their  old  friends  are  every  thing  to  them  ;  they  never  cast 
them  off,  come  what  will,  and  their  charities  are  unbounded 
to  them.  If  there  is  any  thing  in  this  world  I  despise,  it's 
the  everlasting  chatter  I  hear,  of  position,  and  of  this  per- 
son's being  in  society  and  that  one  out.  Mrs.  Gordon,  who 
has  lived  so  long  in  Europe,  declares  the  whole  affair  to  lie 
in  a  nutshell,  and  thinks  the  people  who  arc  so  tormented 
with  fastidious  scruples,  should  depart  instantly  and  pitch 
their  tents  where  they  would  not  be  contaminated  with 
republicanism  ;  and  I  thoroughly  agree  with  her.  If  these 
extra  exclusives  can't  be  satisfied  here,  why  e'en  let  them 
go,  we  can  do  without  them  ;  their  ciy  ever  is  "  vulgarity," 
little  reck  they  that  the  world  sets  them  down  for  unmiti- 
gated snobs  —  thanks  to  Mr.  Thackeray  for  so  accurately 
defining  the  class  that  there's  no  mistake.' 

'  Dear  me,  Jane,  how  very  warm  you  get  on  this  subject.' 

'I  detest  pretension,  Serena,  and  shall  always  set  my 
face  against  it  as  long  as  I  live,  and  shall  have  plenty  of 
work  on  my  hands,  I'm  quite  sure.  I  must  leave  you  now, 
as  I've  an  engagement,  and  am  going  to  pay  a  visit  to  Mrs. 
Gordon.  I  rather  like  her;  she  sees  many  things  to  im- 
prove here,  but  never  rails  against  her  own  countrymen, 
though  she  has  lived  so  long  in  Europe.' 


318  THE    BARCLAYS 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

'  Schoolboy's  tears 
Take  up  the  glasses  of  my  sight.' 

Shakspeare. 

Johnny  Barclay,  whose  head  had  been  nearly  turned 
by  the  extraordinary  circumstaHce  of  two  weddings  in  his 
family,  and  having  exhausted  all  his  rejoicings  before  the  pair 
of  events  transpired,  indited  a  letter,  a  few  weeks  after,  to 
his  friend,  Joseph  Staples,  who  had  entreated  him  to  impart 
to  him  a  glowing  account  of  the  festivhies  ;  he  having  been 
retained  at  school  during  the  vacation  for  divers  misde- 
meanors.    Johnny  wrote  : 

'  I  promised  you,  my  dear  Joe,  to  send  you  an  accurate 
description  of  all  the  wonderful  doings  at  our  house  on  the 
pair  of  weddings.  Well,  as  the  family  was  in  such  a  dread- 
ful mess,  for  some  time  before,  with  such  preparations,  I 
had  a  glorious  chance  of  doing  up  forty  little  prohibited 
things,  which  I  declare  honestly  I  cared  not  much  about ; 
but  then,  you  know,  they  were  forbidden,  and  there  laid 
the  whole  gist  of  the  matter.  Some  things  I  did  that  were 
exceedingly  pleasant.  I've  always  had  a  grudge  against 
]\Iiss  Tidmarsh,  you  know,  the  old  maid  I've  told  you  about. 
Well,  I  unscrewed  her  knocker,  and  absconded  with  it,  being 
sure  she  would  cry  over  its  loss  forever,  and  never  will 
she  see  it  again,  for  'tis  buried.  Now,  ask  no  questions. 
She,  the  old  thing,  had  a  big  story,  about  as  heavy  as  the 
lost  article,  which  she  always  finislicd  by  saying  that  the 
knocker  was  aristocratic,  and  belonged  to  her  father.  I 
hesitated  between  that  and  her  cat,  but   decided  for  what 


OF    BOSTON.  319 

I  thought  she'd  grieve  for  most.  She's  told  many  a  tale 
of  me  to  my  mother,  and  I'm  even  with  her  now,  thank 
the  stars  and  a  dark  night. 

'  And  Jane  Redmond's  another  of  my  distinguished  favor- 
ites, for  the  self-same  reasons,  and  I  soaped  the  iron  railings 
of  her  steps,  on  the  night  of  a  grand  ball  to  which  she  was 
going,  and  she  covered  her  white  kid  gloves  with  the  article, 
to  which  was  added  a  little  black  paint,  and  then  held  up  her 
dress,  a  white  satin  one  !  !  Oh  !  how  she  stormed  !  But 
then  she  lives  in  a  whirlwind.  She  never  discovered  the 
mischief.  I've  taken  particular  care  to  ascertain  the  fact, 
until  she  was  told  of  her  mishap,  ever  so  many  times,  just  as 
she  was  beginning  to  flourish  forth  in  a  quadrille ;  then  out 
she  flounced  into  the  hall,  and  raged  furiously  all  the  way 
home,  and  after  she  got  there  too.  Capital  fun !  wasn't  it, 
my  good  fellow  ? 

'  Then,  I've  given  two  balls  in  the  harness-room.  It's 
not  very  large  ;  that  was  the  only  difficulty.  You  know  I 
play  on  the  flute  a  bit,  and  we  had  an  excellent  suppei*. 
You  see,  our  house  has  been  so  full  of  dress-makers  and 
every  thing  else,  that  my  doings  have  been  totally  disre- 
garded. The  weddings  were  charming,  no  doubt,  and  very 
merry,  and  I  ate  so  much,  and  the  last  piece  of  Strasbourg 
pie  did  the  business  for  me ;  for  I  felt  creepy  all  over,  and 
mortal  sick,  and  fell  asleep  on  one  of  the  sofas,  lost  the 
serenades,  and  never  waked  up  till  the  next  morning,  and 
was  rather  stiffish  or  so,  but  got  over  it,  and  began  to  feed 
again.  That's  the  only  way,  my  boy.  I  like  my  two  new 
brothers  very  much,  —  Charley  Sanderson's  a  roarer ;  but  then 
the  Dolly's  husband  is,  you  know,  a  parson,  and  I  was  dread- 
fully afraid  of  him.  Only  think  of  my  sister,  'the  Dolly,* 
marrying  a  preacher !  Dear  me !  how  it  troubled  me  at 
first.  What  will  she  do  ?  She'll  be  obliged  to  renounce 
dancing  and  laughing,  I  thought,  but  I  dined  with  her  yester- 
day, and  my  mind  was  much  relieved.  Will  you  believe  ? 
No,  I  am  sure  you  won't;  Mr.  Meredith  turns  up  quite  a 


320 


THE    BARCLAYS 


trump.  He  was  as  gay  as  possible,  and  the  Dolly,  Mrs. 
Meredith,  and  I,  talked  over  our  old  theatricals  and  military, 
and  he  laughed  heartily,  —  only  think  of  that.  Sir !  Well! 
then,  after  dinner,  I  ran  all  over  the  new  house.  It's  beauti- 
ful, and  chased  my  sister  up  stairs  and  down,  and  such  a  real 
frolic  as  we  had, — just  like  old  times.  Vm  quite  reconciled 
to  her  choice  ;  and  then  she  seems  so  happy  !  quite  as  much 
so  as  Gracy ;  and  Mr.  Meredith  begged  me  to  come  as  often 
as  possible,  and  I  shall  go. 

'  The  vacation  will  soon  be  over,  and,  to  tell  you  the  truth, 
I  shall  be  rather  glad  to  get  back  to  the  old  fogy.  Sterling, 
after  all,  for  it's  a  little  bit  dull  here  without  "  the  Dolly." 
To  be  sure,  she  has  not,  since  the  water-butt  dodge,  had 
any  thing  to  do  with  our  sports  and  plays,  but  she  was 
always  such  a  resource  in  extremities,  I  miss  her  horridly, 
more  and  more  every  day.  My  mother  has  given  me  a 
splendid  plum-cake,  weighing  ever  so  many  pounds,  frosted 
and  gilded,  and  somebody  has  sent  me,  anonymously,  in 
sixty-four  wrappers,  a  ten  dollar  gold  piece,  and  I've  pur- 
chased six  half  bottles  of  cham[)agne,  and  six  wax  lights, 
so  we'll  have  a  magnificent  time  the  night  of  my  arrival. 
The  only  difficulty  is,  that  all  the  feast  of  reason  and  flow 
of  soul  must  be  abandoned  for  dumb  show  ;  but  pantomime's 
my  forte,  and  the  rest  must  do  as  well  as  they  can,  for  if 
old  Sterling  hears  us,  we  shall  certainly  catch  it. 

'  Ever  yours,  Joiixny  B.akclay.' 

'  P.  S.  I  shall  smuggle  the  wine  in  my  pockets.  That's 
the  reason  why  I  bought  small  bottles.  I  should  much 
rather  had  big  ones,  —  they're  grander  ;  not  that  I  care  much 
for  champ;igne,  it  always  gives  me  the  headache  ;  but  then, 
you  know,  it's  a  wedding  feast.  Yours,  ever,         J.  B.' 

It  unfortunately  happened  for  the  fruition  of  the  projected 
entertainment,  that  Joe  Staples  being  a  sadly  careless  fellow, 
left  his  precious  letter  in  his  bed,  having  read  it  over  every 
day   before    he    arose,   and    the    chamber-maid,   a    reading 


OF    BOSTON.  321 

young  lady,  having  perused  it  first  herself,  consigned  it  to 
the  safe  keeping  of  Mr.  Sterling,  it  being  of  no  possible  use 
to  her.  When  Johnny  arrived,  his  trunks  and  boxes  passed 
Mr.  Sterling's  customs;  but  his  person  was  searched,  and 
the  accusing  spirits  were  found.  He  was  thunderstruck, 
and  fancied  that  his  friend  had  betrayed  hrm,  but  farther 
developments  showed  the  contrary.  Still  Johnny  was  very 
angry  with  Joe  for  his  heedlessness,  and  reproached  him 
bitterly,  and  the  offender  was  very  miserable.  The  mag- 
nificent plumcake  was  unpacked,  exhibited  to  longing  eyes, 
and  confiscated  for  a  whole  month,  —  its  restoration  de- 
pending then  upon  the  most  admirable  conduct  in  the 
interim.  Here  was  a  category,  with  a  vengeance  !  The 
schoolboys  were  all  furious,  and  poor  Joe  was  assailed  with 
an  unaccountable  quantity  of  abuse  and  vituperation,  which 
he,  not  bearing  meekly,  sundry  fights  ensued,  and  sundry 
sequestrations  followed,  so  that  the  plumcake  became  a 
terrible  source  of  discord  in  this  never  paradisiacal  seminary 
of  learning.  Johnny  cared  very  little  for  the  cake,  himself, 
for  he  had  endured  countless  nightmares  in  consequence  of 
over-eating  the  coveted  article  ;  but  he  regretted  ks  tem- 
porary disappearance  for  his  friends'  sake,  and  vowed  never 
to  take  another  nice  thing  into  that  establishment  again. 

And  Johnny  had  returned  to  his  school  in  the  full  and 
perfect  assurance  that  his  favorite  sister  was  happy.  He  loved 
Georgiana  and  Grace,  but  his  playmate  was  the  boy's  heart's 
treasure.  And  Mrs.  Meredith  •was  just  as  happy  as  her 
young  brother  believed  her  to  be.  She  and  her  sister,  Mrs. 
Sanderson,  compared  notes  in  the  arrangement  of  their 
respective  houses  and  domestic  ^details,  and,  although  the 
clergyman's  wife  found  that  she  would  have  much  less  time 
for  her  own  purposes  than  Mrs.  Sanderson,  yet  she  repined 
not,  and,  furthermore,  resolved  to  busy  herself,  as  much  as 
possible,  that  she  might  save  her  husband  a  portion  of  his 
hours  for  the  theological  works  in  which  he  was  earnestly 
engaged.     She  had  not  communed  with  any  one   but  her 


322 


THE    BARCLAYS 


mother  on  her  projects  of  usefulness,  because,  as  she  frankly 
avowed,  she  might  yet  falter  and  linger  by  the  wayside; 
and  Mrs.  Barclay  was  astonished  to  discover  what  profound 
reflection  and  good  resolutions  her  youthful  daughter  had 
taken  with  her  into  the  abode  of  her  husband ;  what  a 
strong  sense  of  her  coming  duties  her  child  entertained, 
and  what  an  ardent  desire  she  felt  to  fulfil  them.  '  She  had 
made  no  promises,'  she  said,  '  but  intended  to  surprise  Mr. 
Meredith  with  her  exertions,  and  be  to  him  truly  a  helpmate. 
It  appeared  that  her  reverence  and  affection  for  Mr.  Mere- 
dith had  developed  many  remarkable  qualities,  which  would 
have  otherwise  lain  dormant ;  and  her  mother  had  great 
reason  to  congratulate  herself  on  the  choice  which  this  young 
creature  had  made,  since  every  day  added  to  the  perfecting 
of  her  character. 

With  Grace  and  Charley  Mrs.  Barclay's  assurance  of  con- 
geniality was  unquestionable  ;  but  she  had  doubted  if  the 
impressible  and  excitable  nature  of  Kate  would,  in  the  end, 
assimilate  so  happily  with  Mr.  Meredith,  and  awaited,  rather 
anxiously,  the  result.  These  doubts  she  had  expressed  to 
her  husband  ;  but  he,  on  the  other  hand,  believed  this  union 
to  be  just  the  most  felicitous  event  which  could  have  possi- 
bly occurred  to  his  child,  and  bade  his  wife  be  of  good  cheer, 
and  asserted  that  all  would  be  right.  Mr.  Barclay  enter- 
tained the  most  exalted  ideas  of  the  excellent  qualities  of  his 
new  son,  and  hailed  with  delight  the  entrance  of  such  an 
admirable  person  into  his  family.  And  succeeding  observa- 
tions induced  Mrs.  Barclay  to  believe  he  was  correct  in  liis 
views. 

Mr.  Meredith  had  married 

'  A  creature  not  too  bright  or  good 
For  human  nature's  daily  food  ; 
For  transient  sorrows,  simple  wiles. 
Praise,  blame,  love,  kisses,  tears  and  sratits.' 

And  he  had  married  with  a  complete  knowledge  of  all  the 
imperfections,  as  well    as  the   good   quaiitics,  of  his   wife. 


OF    BOSTON.  323 

He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  guide  her  gently  and  discreetly ; 
he  knew  she  devotedly  loved  him,  and  that  conviction  amply 
sufficed  to  inspire  him  with  a  strong  sense  of  security  as  to 
her  future  career.  She  was  enthusiastic,  impulsive,  and 
warm-hearted  ;  her  whole  happiness  was  centred  in  pleasing 
him,  and  she  was,  moreover,  fascinatingly  attractive,  and 
with  this  state  of  things  he  considered  himself  blest  in  the 
possession  of  such  a  treasure.  But  he  was  wholly  unpre- 
pared for  the  serious  manner  with  which  she  entered  upon 
the  arduous  duties  of  her  station;  he  had  imagined  he 
should  gradually  introduce  her  to  them  as  much  by  example 
as  precept,  but  he  discovered,  to  his  amazement,  that  she 
fully  comprehended  their  importance,  and  was  prepared  not 
only  to  fulfil  them,  but  even  to  assist  him  greatly.  When 
this  conviction  dawned  upon  his  mind,  and  on  further  obser- 
vation he  perceived  that  her  exertions  were  untiring,  he  was 
indeed  delighted. 

There  had  not  been  wanting,  as  usual,  many  kind  ad- 
visers, who,  when  they  discovered  he  was  affianced  to  Kate 
Barclay,  had  ventured  upon  timely  remonstrances  respecting 
his  choice,  thinking  that,  even  at  the  last  moment,  it  was 
better  to  do  something,  than  allow  their  young  and  beloved 
pastor  to  rush  madly  on  his  evil  destiny.  For  although  they 
all  greatly  respected  her  father  and  mother,  they  had  ever 
considered  the  daughter  to  be  a  very  flighty  young  girl,  and 
knew  she  iiad  always  been  an  irreclaimable  romp.  Mr. 
Meredith  received  these  remonstrances  respectfully,  but  in- 
formed these  anxious  individuals  that  he  considered  himself 
the  best  judge  of  his  own  affairs,  and  especially  in  the  matter 
of  the  choice  of  a  partner  for  life  ;  that  he  knew  the  young 
lady  thoroughly,  having  been  long  intimate  in  Mr.  Barclay's 
family,  and  finally  assured  them  that  he  had  ever  enter- 
tained a  strong  prejudice  in  favor  of  irreclaimable  romps, 
and  had  found  that  they  generally  made  very  captivating 
and  excellent  wives.  So  his  meddlesome  friends  departed 
with  many   dismal  forebodings  touching   their  clergyman's 


324  THE    BARCLAYS 

prospects  of  happiness,  and  made  sundry  and  divers  pre- 
dictions which  were  never  destined  to  be  fulfilled.  Now 
these  persons  were  certainly  not  ill-disposed  ;  but  if  they 
had  reflected,  even  for  a  moment,  they  would  have  perceiv- 
ed the  folly  of  intei-fering  when  vows  had  been  registered 
and  faith  pledged,  and  might  also  have  reflected  upon  the 
great  mistake  they  committed  when  they  attempted  to  infuse 
doubts  and  fears  into  the  mind  of  a  man  whom  they  loved. 
But  Mr.  Meredith's  afl^ection  and  trust  in  the  '  irreclaimable 
romp'  was  not  to  be  shaken  by  any  interference  of  that 
kind,  and  he  made  his  advisers  feel  the  necessity  of  silence 
for  the  future,  by  entreating  them  never  again  to  recur  to 
the  subject,  and,  as  they  knew  him  to  be  in  nowise  pecu- 
niarily dependent  upon  them  and  wished  earnestly  to  retain 
him,  they  concluded  to  hold  their  peace. 


OF    BOSTON.  325 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 


•  When  I  said  I  would  die  a  bachelor,  I  did  not  think  I  should  live 
till  I  were  married.'  Suakspeare. 

About  this  time,  as  the  almanacs  say,  there  occurred  a 
most  astounding  event  in  Boston  ;  nobody  in  the  vast  excite- 
ment it  created,  remembering  to  examine  in  what  conjunc- 
tion were  the  planets,  so  busy  was  the  circle  in  which  it 
happened  in  commenting  and  criticising.  There  was  a 
marriage  !  which,  in  the  words  of  the  dear,  delicious  old 
Frenchwoman,  Madame  de  Sevigne,  '  was  the  most  surpris- 
ing, the  most  marvellous,  the  most  miraculous,  the  most 
uncommon,  the  most  bewildering,  the  most  singular,  the  most 
incredible,  and  the  most  absorbing.' 

Mr.  Richard  Barclay  was  married  ! ! 

And  to  whom  ? 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that,  by  this  time,  the  reader  is  suffi- 
ciently interested  in  the  bachelor's  destiny,  to  wish  that  this 
important  question  may  be  answered.  '  Guess,  then, — 
four  times  is  given  to  guess  it  in  —  six  —  a  hundred.' 

'  Truly,'  says  the  reader,  ^  it  must  be  a  very  difficult  thing 
to  guess.'  And  so  it  proved,  the  gentleman  in  question, 
about  whose  affairs  the  public  was  so  intensely  interested, 
never  having,  within  the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant, 
that  ubiquitous  personage,  showed  the  minutest  polite  atten- 
tion to  any  mortal  woman,  save  Mrs.  John  Barclay,  Mrs, 
Sanderson,  Mrs.  Gordon,  and  his  nieces.  Then  who  could 
'  the  impossible  she  '  be  .^  Not  the  great  Mademoiselle  — 
all  the  fair  se^  are  princesses  in  favored  America.  Not 
2S 


326 


THE    BARCLAYS 


Mrs.  Sanderson  —  she  was  altogether  too  tame  for  '  the 
bear.'  Then  the  grandiose  revelation  must  be  made  ;  for 
the  newspapers  had  published  the  catastrophe,  and  they  are 
always  correct  :  '  On  Thursday  evening,  by  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Meredith,  Richard  Barclay,  Esq.  to  Mrs.  Fanny  Ashley, 
widow  of  the  late  Samuel  Ashley,  Esq.' 

Such  a  commotion  as  occurred  in  Miss  Tid marsh's  parlor 
never  was  before  known  —  no,  never  ;  this  lady  seemingly 
regarding  'this  momentous  event  as  a  decidedly  personal 
affront.  She  had  abused  Mr.  Richard  in  all  the  set  and 
choice  terms  of  which  she  was  an  accomplished  mistress, 
but  then  she  might  have  been  deluded  into  marrying  him, 
had  he  positively  asked  her;  and  her  rage  was  overboiling 
that  he  had  failed  to  do  so.  '  To  think  of  his  taking  that 
silly,  flirting  widow  !  '  screamed  the  vexed  damsel  to  her 
sympathizer,  Jane  Redmond  — '  to  think  of  his  marrying,  at 
last,  his  pet  dislike  !  was  ever  any  thing  so  ridiculous  ?  ' 
Suddenly  Miss  Serena  remembered  that  Johnny  Barclay, 
that  terrible  child  !  had  informed  her  that  she  herself  was 
his  uncle's  second  abhorrence  —  might  there  not  be  a  chance 
still  ?  —  but  the  bride  was  pi'ovokingly  healthy,  and  certainly 
gave  abundant  promise  of  thus  remaining. 

Miss  Serena,  in  the  fever  of  her  excitement,  totally  forgot 
her  company  manners.  The  tones  of  her  dulcet  voice, 
losing  its  diapason  in  its  unwonted  elevation,  became  fright- 
fully screechy,  and  thereupon  several  neophytes  in  the  lady's 
habits  and  ways  became  extremely  amazed  and  astonished 
at  this  powerful  change,  Mrs.  Gordon  amongst  others. 

'  But,'  said  Miss  Redmond,  '  you  are  perpetually  bewail- 
ing Mr.  Richard  Barclay  having  taken  unto  himself  Mrs. 
Ashley  ;  now  I  think  the  condescension  is  all  on  the  lady's 
side.  How  could  she  marry  him  ?  Slic  must  have  forgotten 
the  motto  I  placed  on  his  brow  years  ago,  "  Bewar  the  Bar." 
Mr.  Richard  has  absolutely  nothing  to  recommend  him  ; 
neither  looks,  manners  nor  money.  Now  Mrs.  Ashley  is  cer- 
tainly a  pretty  woman,   prettily  dressed,   and  all  the  world 


OF    BOSTON.  327 

declares  her  to  be  pleasing  in  the  extreme  ;  nobody  has 
more  attention  from  both  men  and  women.  She  might  fifty 
times,  to  my  certain  knowledge,  have  married.' 

'  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it,'  exclaimed  Miss  Tidraarsh. 

'  Very  well,'  responded  Miss  Redmond,  '  I  shan't  enter  into 
discussions  upon  indisputable  facts.' 

Then  such  a  chorus  of  exclamations  as  arose  amidst  the 
assemblage,  in  which  the  poor  bride  and  bridegroom  were 
sadly  belabored,  —  no  softer  word  can  be  used.  Mrs.  Gordon 
was  highly  amused  at  this  hubbub,  it  being  precisely  *  what 
she  went  for  to  hear.'  She  laughed  immoderately,  and 
when  the  group  had  exhausted  themselves,  and  an  interval 
of  cessation  occurred  in  this  hail-storm  of  words,  she  said 
'  I  am  reminded  by  all  the  noise  you  make,  ladies,  of  a 
little  circumstance  in  my  very  early  days.  When  I  was  a 
child  I  was  extremely  happy  to  be  permitted  to  go  into  the 
stable  occasionally,  just  to  take  a  peep  at  a  pair  of  snow- 
white  horses  which  my  father  owned.  One  day  our  old 
coachman,  black  Joe,  said  to  me  "  Look  here,  little  Missy, 
here's  a  beautiful  lot  of  white  soap  Missis  has  sent  me,  and 
I'm  going  to  give  the  horses  such  a  washing !  for  she  has 
ordered  me  to  harness  up  and  bring  home  a  live  Countess,  to 
stay  with  her."  I  opened  my  big  eyes  in  stupefied  amaze- 
ment,—  a  live  Countess  !  This  was  news  indeed  !  what 
would  she  be  like  .^  What  would  she  resemble? — one  of 
the  beautiful  women  dancing  round  the  chariot  in  which 
stood  the  superb  young  man,  in  the  great  picture  in  our 
dining-room  ?  I  could  think  and  dream  of  nothing  else, 
and  was  in  a  fever  of  impatience  until  she  arrived.  She 
came,  and,  after  dinner,  I  was  permitted  to  gratify  my  in- 
tense curiosity,  having  waited  motionless  at  the  head  of  the 
hall  stairs  four  hours  without  food,  I  entered  with  the  fruit, 
and  having  taken  my  accustomed  place  on  my  father's 
knee,  I  watched  her  with  an  eaglet's  eye.  Oh !  the  dire 
disappointment !  she  was  as  unlike  what  "  my  fancy  painted 
her  "  as  she  possibly  could  be,  and  it  was  long  ere  I  recovered 


328  THE    BARCLAYS 

from  my  despair  at  finding  a  live  Countess,  ugly.  Intelli- 
gent and  accomplished  she  certainly  was.  The  conversa- 
tion turned  upon  the  acquisition  of  foreign  languages,  which 
she  strongly  recommended,  as  also  did  my  mother,  and 
they  both  thought  French  the  most  useful.  Then  they 
talked  of  particularly  expressive  words,  and  the  lady  pro- 
nounced hullabaloo  to  be  one  of  the  most  emphatic  in  the 
English  language.  Now,  permit  me,  ladies,  to  assert  that 
you  have  decidedly  reminded  me  of  this  big  word  by  your 
noisy  excitement  this  morning.'  So  saying,  Mrs.  Gordon 
arose  and  departed,  and  gained,  by  her  rebuke,  many  spite- 
ful expressions  of  dislike,  but  little  cared  she  for  them,  as 
she  had  not  proposed  to  make  herself  either  pleasing  or 
agreeable. 

The  whole  thing  resolved  itself  into  a  nut-shell.  Mr.  llich- 
ard  had  lost  his  heart  to  his  fair  enemy,  even  at  the  precise 
moment  he  was  most  peri^ectly  sure  as  to  its  entire  posses- 
sion. The  transition  from  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous  is 
effected  in  a  moment.  Then  why  should  not  the  bachelor 
have  committed  his  offence  against  the  almiglsty  public  in 
the  same  period  of  time,  though  what  that  public  had  to  do 
with  the  matter  no  one  could  tell. 

It  appeared  that  one  bright  morning,  long  after  Georgiana 
Barclay's  restoration  to  health,  her  uncle  arose  with  a  firm 
and  solemn  conviction  that  he  should  be  made  su])remcly 
happv,  if  Mrs.  Ashley  would  condescend  to  smile  upon  him  ; 
and  this  being  the  first  time,  in  his  natural  life,  that  the  idea 
of  happiness  had  ever  suggested  itself  to  his  imagination, 
lie  felt  rather  inclined  to  take  it  into  his  heart  of  hearts  and 
make  much  of  it  slowly,  quietly.  Accordingly,  he  did  so, 
but  how  he  contrived  to  bring  round  the  fair  widow  to  the 
same  viev.'  of  the  engrossing  subject  remains  to  be  discover- 
ed, as  nobody  ever  knew,  or  ever  will,  —  not  even  Miss 
Tidmarsh,  who  left  no  stone  unturned  in  her  praiseworthy 
eflbrts  to  enlighten  the  public,  touching  the  how  and  the 
when  of  this  particular  passage  in  Mr.  Richard   Barclay's 


OF    BOSTON.  ,  329 

career,  so  eventful  in  its  consequences  and  so  tardy  in  its 
fruition. 

Mr,  and  Mrs.  Barclay  were  as  much  astonished  as  their 
friends  and  neighbors,  when  the  engagement  between  the 
pair  they  so  dearly  loved  was  announced  to  them,  but  wisely 
asked  no  questions.  Mrs.  Barclay  warmly  congratulated 
the  happy  man,  and  his  brother  embraced  him  affectionate- 
ly, declaring  himself  extremely  satisfied  with  this  pleasant 
news.  The  daughters  of  the  family  were  quite  beside 
themselves  with  joy,  for  would  not  the  aunt  of  their  adop- 
tion be  truly  their  own  at  last?  Mrs.  Meredith,  entirely 
oblivious  of  her  dignified  position,  whirled  her  uncle  Richard 
round  the  library  in  a  waltz,  after  her  old  fashion,  and  then 
rushed  up  stairs  to  impart  the  joyful  intelligence  to  Nursey 
Bristow,  who  begged  her  to  remember  she  was  a  clergy- 
man's wife. 

I\fr.  Richard  made  one  stipulation,  and  it  was,  that  no 
one,  out  of  the  house,  should  be  informed  of  his  afRanced 
condition  he  said  he  desired  to  be  married  as  quietly  as 
possible,  and  get  off.  Poor  man  !  he  well  knew  what  a 
martyrdom  would  ensue  if  his  secret  were  divulged. 

Mrs.  Barclay  seemed  to  be  the  only  person  who  had 
formed  any  conjecture  touching  the  commencement  of  her 
brother's  marvellous  change  of  sentiments.  She  imagined 
that  it  had  occurred  a  long  time  before,  when  he  was  left 
so  much  alone  with  the  lady  during  Georgy's  illness.  And 
perchance  she  was  right ;  there  is  high  authority,  no  less 
than  Miss  Edgeworth,  that  propinquity  works  miracles  in 
such  cases.  At  any  rate,  Mr.  Richard  was  married  and  off, 
and,  after  a  month,  returned,  looking  many  shades  happier 
than  he  had  ever  done  before.  The  bride  received  her 
innumerable  friends  in  her  usual  agreeable  manner,  that 
being  hardly  susceptible  of  improvement,  and  responded  to 
some  Tidmarsh-like  insinuations,  that^he  had  consulted  her 
own  happiness  in  her  choice,  and  should  allow  no  remarks 
to  be  made,  jestingly  or  otherwise,  respecting  it. 
28* 


330  •  THE     BARCLAYS 

To  Mrs.  Barclay  she  declared,  that,  having  become 
wearied  of  tables  and  chairs  for  company,  —  they  were  not 
then  as  gay  and  frisky  as  now,  —  she  had  selected  an  in- 
telligent man;  that  she  well  knew  his  defects,  —  nobody 
better,  —  but  they  were,  in  her  own  opinion,  counterbalanc- 
ed by  noble  qualities,  and  she  had  no  doubt  they  should  get 
on  admirably  together,  '  Added  to  all  this,  my  dearest 
friend,'  she  exclaimed,  '  am  I  not  now  your  sister,  and  truly 
the  beloved  aunt  of  your  darling  children  ?  '  It  was  indeed, 
wonderful  to  behold,  with  what  a  good  grace  Mr.  Richard 
submitted  to  the  infliction  of  dinners  and  routes  and  soirees, 
the  balls  were  abandoned,  and  whether  pleased  or  not, 
gave  no  indications  of  being  otherwise.  He  received  and 
welcomed  all  his  hospitable  wife's  innumerable  friends  and 
visiters  cordially,  and  performed  this  courtesy  voluntarily  ; 
for  she  had  provided  for  her  '  bear,'  she  said,  a  den,  and 
wonderful  to  relate,  he  refused  to  remain  in  it. 

In  fact,  a  pleasanter  establishment  could  nowhere  be  found. 
This  harmonious  state  of  things  vastly  disappointed  the 
preconceived  opinions  of  the  public,  and  Miss  Serena  Tid- 
marsh,  in  particular,  she  having  predicted,  far  and  wide, 
that  nobody  would  desire  to  enter  Mrs.  Eichard  Barclay's 
doors  a  second  time,  her  husband  would  make  himself  so 
disagreeable. 

Mr.  Richard  entered  his  bride's  home,  as  if  he  were  a 
guest  on  probation,  for  he  never  gave  an  order,  or  changed 
the  arrangement  of  a  single  thing  in  h;  being  perfectly  satis- 
fied with  her  management,  he  never  interfered.  His  wife 
was  deferential,  and  consulted  him  respecting  her  domestic 
details,  festal  and  otherwise  ;  but  he  entreated  her  not  to 
open  her  mouth  to  him  on  those  subjects,  saying  that  he 
thought  all  tlose  kind  of  things  belonged  exclusively  to 
women,  and  he  should  never  have  married  one  who  could 
not  regulate  them. 

Where  was  then  Mr.  Richard  Barclay's  iron  rule  ?  Dis- 
solved into  thin  air,  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  vision,  not 


OF    BOSTON.  331 

a  vestige  remained,  —  '  the  bear  '  was  tamed.  Mr.  Barclay 
was  vastly  amused  by  this  grand  revolution  in  his  rou^h 
brother's  views,  but  sagely  abstained  from  reminding  him 
of  his  desperate  threats  of  autocratic  sway  and  power  in 
married  life.  He  was  satisfied  that  the  bachelor  was  happy, 
and  had  found  a  haven  at  last,  and  as  he  had  heard  many 
such  high  resolves  and  seen  the  same  results,  his  motto  had 
always  been  silence.  It  cannot,  with  truth,  be  asserted  that 
every  one  was  equally  forbearing.  Mr.  Richard  was  hit 
right  and  left,  and  not  very  gently  either  ;  but  he  behaved 
with  great  discretion,  and  comported  himself  admirably,  and 
consequently  furnished  the  public  additional  food  for  aston- 
ishment and  speculation. 

And  the  truth  was,  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Richard  Barclay 
were  a  very  happy  couple.  They  were  certainly  sufficient- 
ly acquainted  with  each  other  to  comprehend  what  would  be 
their  relative  positions  when  united,  and  having  resolved  to 
live  together,  were  perfectly  conscious  that  there  must  be 
a  certain  degree  of  forbearance  exercised  on  both  sides. 
This  state  of  feeling  often  produces  more  lasting  and  happy 
results  than  exaggerated  views  of  life  and  over-wrought 
pictures  of  ideal  felicity,  which  must  be  dispelled  up  by  the 
realities  of  existence.  Now,  these  are  the  common-sense, 
practical  remarks  on  the  subject  to  which  we  all  fully  sub- 
scribe in  our  common-sense  moments,  but  if  these  are  wise 
and  lucid,  we  have  or  have  had  some  which  are  not  quite 
so  denominated  in  the  bond.  It  must  be  avowed  that  there 
is  something  extremely  attractive  in  a  really  old-fashioned 
love-match:  and  we  are  very  apt  to  turn  from  the  rationali- 
ties and  give  our  undivided  attention,  —  despite  all  our  con- 
ventionalisms and  aphorisms,  —  to  any  remarkably  silly 
pair  of  fledglings,  who  are  precipitating  themselves  into 
matrimony  without  a  single  requisite  for  domestic  happiness. 


332  THE    BARCLAYS 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 


'  Truth  crushed  to  earth  shall  rise  again, 
Eternal  years  of  God  are  hers  ; 
But  error  wounded  writhes  in  pain, 
And  dies  among  her  worshippers.' 

Bryant. 

• 

Mr.  Barclay  was  one  morning  favored  with  a  visit  from 
Captain  Eliathan  Williams,  a  brave,  kind-hearted,  '  Down 
East '  sailor,  engaged  in  the  merchant  service.  He  had  just 
then  returned  from  Leghorn,  and  had  formerly  been  em- 
ployed by  that  gentleman,  and  having  entertained  a  high  re- 
gard for  him,  he  called  to  pay  his  respects.  He  entered  Mr, 
Barclay's  office,  and  after  shaking  him  by  the  hand  with  an 
iron  grip,  and  formally  inquiring  after  every  member  of  his 
family  by  name,  he  settled  himself  down  in  an  arm-chair,  and 
made  very  decided  signals  of  spinning  a  pretty  long  sea- 
yarn  by  stowing  away  an  enormous  quid  of  tobacco  in  a 
corner  of  his  capacious  mouth,  placing  a  broad-brimmed  hat 
between  his  knees,  in  which  figured  conspicuously  a  ban- 
danna handkerchief,  large  enough  for  a  flag-staff,  half  a 
dozen  invoices,  six  newspapers,  and  a  dozen  bills  of  lading. 
Having  carefully  arranged  this  most  precious  travelling  cas- 
ket, he  combed  up  with  his  thick  fingers  each  particular  hair 
on  his  bullet-shaped  head,  so  erect  that  the  quills  on  'the 
fretful  porcupine'  were  nothing  to  them,  and  solemnly  began 
his  long  story, 

'  You  must  know,  Sir,  that  my  Betsy  Williams  is  a  very 
good  kind  of  woman  in  the  main,  when  she  has  every  thing 
right  her  own  way,  but  is  sometimes  a  little   contrary  when 


OF    BOSTON.  333 

she  is  crossed,  —  most  women-kind  are  just  about  the  same 
thing,  they  tell  me.  Well,  then,  I  never  put  her  out  much. 
They  do  say  that  the  gray  mare  is  the  better  horse  at  our 
house  ;  of  that  I  make  no  dispute,  but  then  she  is,  and  ought 
so  to  be,  commander  on  board  her  own  craft.  But  I  take 
mighty  good  care,  I  can  tell  you,  that  she  has  nothin  to  do 
with  my  barque,  the  Betsy  and  Mary,  and  so  we  get  on  pretty 
considerably  straight,  though  I  won't  swear  there  isn't  a 
squall  ahead  sometimes.  She's  not  a  very  likely  woman, 
my  wife  ;  1  didn't  choose  her  for  her  outside,  as  Sam  Kidder 
did  his'n,  and  has  never  done  repentin  his  bargain.  Why, 
Judith  Kidder's  ugly  behavior  has  entirely  spiled  her  good 
looks,  and  Betsy  Williams  holds  her  own  —  such  as  it  is. 
But  this  is  neither  here  nor  there,  as  you'll  allow,  Sir.' 

Now  Mr.  Barclay  certainly  coincided  with  the  worthy 
captain,  and  had  begun  to  think  that  this  involved  preamble 
would  never  come  to  a  close  ;  but  he  well  knew  from  dire 
experience  that  there  was  no  use  in  stopping  him,  as  that 
only  made  matters  worse,  and  that  in  process  of  time  he 
would  get  to  the  end  of  his  rope,  and  then  there  was  always 
something  worth  hearing,  so  he  patiently  submitted. 

'  Now,  Betsy  doesn't  like  to  have  the  house  riled  a  bit, — 
she's  dreadful  nice,  and  its  just  as  much  as  I  can  do  to  fmd 
a  place  to  spit  in,  and  I  have  at  last  caught  the  trick  of  send- 
ing my  shots  right  straight  up  the  chimney.  It  cost  me  a  lot 
of  time  to  learn  this,  but  it  pays  ;  for  you  see,  she  gets  ram- 
pagious  mad  when  I  miss,  and  sets  up  such  a  sesserary  it's 
perfectly  ridiculous  !  Well,  as  I  was  tellin  you,  I've  been 
to  Leghorn,  and  as  I  did  pretty  well,  considering,  I  thought 
I'd  make  a  trade  for  a  straw  flat  for  Betsy,  which  they  do 
say  is  very  handsome,  and  likewise  a  pin,  —  it's  raither  large 
for  a  pin,  —  and  all  made  of  little  pieces  of  glassware  dove- 
tailed together,  and  is  right  curious,  very  peculiar,  I  can  tell 
you.  Well,  the  man  I  traded  with  charged  me  not  to  forget 
the  subject,  —  I  think  he  said  it  was  three  pigeons  drinking 
out  of  a  wash-bowl.     And  upon  the  whole,  I  guess  I  made  a 


334  THE    BARCLAYS 

pretty  good  trade,  for  I  swapped  away  some  codfish,  the  real 
dun,  for  these  things.  I  wish  I  could  remember  the  name 
of  the  pin,  —  my  memory's  failin  I  do  believe.  As  I  didn't 
begin  to  make  this  grand  trade  till  the  barque  was  pretty 
considerably  near  ready,  we  sailed  soon  after.  We'd  ben 
out  a  few  days  and  were  spanking  along  at  a  famous  rate,  — 
she's  a  capital  sailer,  that  Betsy  and  Mary,  I  can  tell  you, — 
when  we  saw  a  great  light  right  ahead  of  us.  It  turned  out 
to  be  a  ship  on  fire.  Oh !  such  a  horrid  sight  my  eyes  never 
beheld !  and  the  signal  guns,  they  bellowed  away,  —  and 
didn't  we  crowd  on  sail !  At  last  we  reached  her.  Most  of 
the  crew  and  passengers  had  jumped  into  the  boats,  and  the 
minute  they  saw  us  were  half  crazed  with  joy.  One  young- 
ster and  a  woman  was  standiu  on  the  deck.  He  seemed  to 
be  trying  to  coax  her  to  go  over  the  side  with  the  rest,  but 
she  wouldn't  budge  an  inch  ;  it  seems  she  was  so  frightened 
that  she'd  no  wits  left.  Presently  what  did  he  do  but  take 
her  right  up  in  his  arms  and  jump  overboard  with  her.  How 
he  did  this  I  couldn't  tell,  for  he's  a  slim-made  fellow  ;  but 
there  she  was  flounderin  about  in  the  salt  brine  in  a  jilTey. 
It  served  her  right  for  her  obstinacy.  They  soon  got  'em 
into  a  boat,  and  the  whole  of  'em  we  took  aboard  and  did  all 
we  could  for  'em.  Them  women  always  make  just  such  a 
fuss  at  sea  !  I  never  want  one  aboard  the  Betsy  and  Mary. 
When  I  was  first  mate  in  the  Sally,  the  captain's  wife  took  it 
into  her  head  to  go  too,  and  such  a  real  tarnation  crittur  as 
she  was  !  I  swan  if  there  wasn't  a  petticoat  nailed  to  the 
mainmast  the  whole  voyage,  —  tisn't  lucky  'nother,  I  can  tell 
you.  Well,  as  I  said  afore,  we  got  the  whole  squad  on 
board,  and  did  all  we  could  for  'em.  There  was  no  clothes 
for  the  woman,  so  she  wore  my  Sunday  suit,  which  did  very 
well.  At  first  she  was  raither  ashamed,  —  she  hadn't  heerd 
of  Bloomerism,  —  but  got  used  to  them  in  the  end.  Well,  the 
lad  who  saved  her  was  a  right  good  fellow,  I  can  tell  you, 
and  I  took  to  him  mightily.  At  first  he  seemed  very  well  ; 
he  sung  for  us  beautifully,  and  drew  all  sorts  of  funny  pic- 


OF    BOSTON.  335 

turs  of  all  our  ship's  company.  Every  body  loved  him  on 
board.  Whether  or  no  he  strained  himself  when  he  jumped 
overboard  with  the  woman  I  can't  tell,  but  he  soon  began  to 
ail  and  complained  of  a  pain  in  his  breast  and  side,  and  one 
day  I  found  him  faintin  with  his  mouth  full  of  blood  ;  —  he 
said  he  had  broken  a  blood-vessel.  I  thought  the  woman 
was  crazed  ;  she  wrung  her  hands  and  tore  her  hair,  and 
called  on  fifty  saints  and  made  such  a  to-do  about  this  lad. 
She  said  he  had  destroyed  himself  in  savin  her,  a  total 
stranger ;  but  he  said  no,  that  he  had  almost  always  enjoyed 
bad  health,  and  was  no  worse  then  than  common.  A  bad 
cough  set  in,  and  he  was  tied  to  his  berth  and  seemed  to  get 
worse  and  worse  every  day,  and  the  sicker  he  grew  the  bet- 
ter I  loved  the  lad.  Oh,  he's  a  prince  of  a  fellow,  with  such 
a  big  heart !  Well,  when  we  anchored,  the  first  thing  I  did 
was  to  rig  up  smart,  make  all  tight,  see  the  owners,  and  then 
take  the  Leghorn  flat  and  the  mosicky  pin,  —  now  I've  got 
it,  —  straight  up  to  the  house,  and  as  I  went  along  I  thought 
how  nice  it  would  be  to  slick  up  that  poor  fellow  I'd  just  left 
in  his  narrow  berth,  into  the  best  chamber,  white  curtains 
and  all.  Well,  I  found  Betsy,  and  she  was  glad  to  see  me  ; 
she  always  is,  and  liked  her  pin  very  much  and  the  flat  also, 
but  says  she  shall  never  be  able  to  make  up  her  mind  how 
to  have  it  cut;  and,  as  the  fashions  won't  let  her  wear  it 
whole,  she's  dreadfully  afraid  that  she'll  never  be  able  to 
put  it  on  her  head,  but  says  she  can  keep  it  for  a  show.  It's 
just  so  always,  —  poor  little  Mary  had  got  the  measles,  and 
was  put  in  the  best  chamber,  —  every  body  is  that's  sick  in 
our  house,  — and  so  there  was  no  place  for  the  poor  lad  ; 
and  I  thought  I'd  just  come  and  tell  you  the  whole  story,  as 
you're  always  good  at  listening  to  me  and  helping  all  dis- 
tressed people.  I  once  asked  this  young  man  if  he  knew 
any  one  in  America,  and  he  answered,  no  one  to  whom  he 
could  apply  for  assistance.  I  can't  bear  the  thoughts  of  his 
being  sent  to  the  hospital,  good  as  it  is.  He  don't  look  like 
a  person  who  has  ever  done  hard  work  ;  his  hands  are  very 


336  THE     BARCLAYS 

soft.  How  I  do  wish  Mary  hadn't  the  measles ;  she's  not 
very  sick,  but  can't  be  moved.  I'm  sure  he's  a  gentleman. 
Now  if  we  could  get  a  good  room,  I'm  perfectly  willin  to 
pay  one  half  if  you  will  the  other.  He's  got  the  consump- 
tion.' 

Mr.  Barclay  was  as  usual  repaid  for  his  patient  listening, 
and  assured  the  captain  that  he  would  engage  to  defi-ay  all 
expenses,  and  would  immediately  accompany  him  on  board 
the  barque  and  see  his  passenger.  He  then  ordered  a 
coach,  and  jumping  in  with  the  captain,  they  proceeded  to 
Gerald's  old  quarters,  and  engaged  a  nice,  airy  room,  and 
gave  directions  for  a  good  fire  to  be  prepared.  Then  they 
hastened  on  board  the  barque.  !Mr.  Barclay  found  an  un- 
commonly handsome  young  man,  with  most  prepossessing 
manners  and  refined  address,  lying  exhausted  and  suffering 
in  his  berth,  the  cold  winds  of  autumn  blowing  fiercely 
around  him.  The  captain  bustled  about  and  informed  him 
that  every  thing  was  ready,  and  that  they  desired  he  would 
try  to  rouse  himself  and  get  on  shore.  After  many  inef- 
fectual efibrts,  they  succeeded  in  having  the  invalid  trans- 
ported to  the  wharf,  and  from  thence  to  the  boarding-house, 
where  the  mistress  of  the  house  received  them  at  the  door 
in  the  kindest  manner,  and  installed  the  sufterer  in  a  warm 
and  comfortable  bed  in  a  remarkably  cheerful  and  sunny 
room.  Mr.  Barclay  then  sent  for  a  medical  man,  who  came 
and  administered  some  alleviating  potion,  and  the  patient 
sank  into  a  profound  slumber.  A  good  nurse  was  engaged, 
and  he  was  left  to  her  care.  Mr.  Barclay  sent  in  the  even- 
ing to  inquire  for  the  young  stranger,  and  found  that  he  had 
greatly  rallied  under  the  combined  influence  of  warmth  and 
comfort,  and  was  much  better. 

The  next  morning  he  went  to  visit  him.  The  good  cap- 
tain was  already  there,  and  the  stranger  was  sitting  up  in  bed 
propped  with  pillows.  When  Mr.  Barclay  entered,  Captain 
Williams  formally  introduced  his  passenger  to  him  as  Mr. 
Julian  Seaton,  having  forgotten  in  the  hurry  of  the  preceding 


OF     BOSTON.  337 

day,  to  perform  the  ceremony.  Mr.  Barclay  started  when 
he  heard  the  name,  and  when  his  own  was  pronounced  the 
stranger  fainted.  After  some  time  he  revived,  and  entreated 
to  be  left  alone  with  Mr.  Barclay.  He  then  said,  '  God 
grant  me  strength  to  impart  to  you,  Sir,  the  miserable  tale  of 
my  wickedness.  I  can  scarcely  find  words  in  which  to 
express  my  own  sense  of  my  utter  unworthiness  ;  the  only 
appeal  I  shall  make  to  your  mercy  and  forgiveness  is,  that  I 
shall  not  for  a  long  time  cross  your  pathway.  The  sands  in 
my  glass  of  life  are  nearly  run,  and  it  is  a  miserable  and 
dying  sinner  who  now  throws  himself  on  your  clemency  for 
protection.  I  am  Julian  Seaton,  the  only  son  of  your  wife's 
cousin,  Paul  Seaton;  and  I  am,  —  oh  God,  that  I  should  live 
to  confess  this  to  you!  —  your  daughter's  husband,  —  the 
deceiver,  the  traitor  who  stole  away  the  heart  of  your  child 
under  false  pretences.  Blame  not  her,  I  conjure  you,  —  let 
the  whole  weight  of  your  just  displeasure  full  upon  me, 
wretch  that  I  am.' 

Mr.  Barclay  was,  as  may  naturally  be  supposed,  thunder- 
struck at  this  revelation  ;  he  administered  a  renovating  cor- 
dial to  his  fainting  relative,  and  after  this  had  taken  effect 
he  renewed  the  conversation,  and  heard  exactly  the  same 
narrative  as  far  as  his  daughter  was  concerned,  as  she  had 
already  given  to  him  of  her  acquaintance  with  her  husband. 
A  long  and  intensely  interesting  interview  was  this,  in  which 
the  good  merchant  accorded  a  full  pardon  to  the  erring 
young  man,  and  poured  the  balm  of  forgiveness  into  his  peni- 
tent and  humble  spirit.  On  leaving  Julian  Seaton,  he  instantly 
repaired  to  his  brother's  and  communicated  the  intelligence 
of  his  wonderful  discover}\  Mr.  Richard  was  surprised  — 
overjoyed.  '  Oh,'  said  he,  '  my  dear  little  niece's  reputation 
for  veracity,  I  have  reason  to  know,  though  I  never  told  you, 
John,  had  been  implicated.  There  are  people  who  have 
dared  to  doubt  her  word  ;  thank  God,  they  can  do  it  no 
longer,  —  she  is  righted  and  we  are  saved  —  so  long  as  there 
was  a  stain  upon  her  honor,  I  was  miserable.  Now  all  is 
29 


338  THE    BARCLAYS 

revealed,  the  truth  of  her  story  made  manifest,  and  it  is  to 
no  low  and  objectionable  person  that  she  is  married,  but  to 
one  of  your  own  kith  and  kin,  or  your  wife's,  which  is  the 
same  thing.  To  be  sure  the  father  is  a  good  for  nothing 
rascal,  but  1  have  heard  the  most  admirable  account  of  the 
mother;  the  boy  can't  be  very  bad,  I'm  sure.  What  a 
relief !  John,  I  feel  as  if  an  atlas  had  been  lifted  up  from 
my  shoulders.  What  an  incubus  has  been  removed  this 
blessed  morning  by  this  revelation  !  We  must  mark  this  day 
with  a  white  stone  in  the  calendar  of  our  lives,  and  bless 
God  for  his  mercies.  I  must  go  home  with  you,  John,  and 
hear  you  tell  your  wife  ;  she  has  beliaved  like  an  angel 
through  all  her  tribulations,  and  I'm  determined  to  see  how 
she  will  bear  this  good  and  joyful  news.' 

Mr.  Barclay  was  delighted  with  this  proposition,  for  he 
was  greatly  overcome  with  the  interview  he  had  just  passed 
through,  and  required  the  assistance  of  his  brother  in  im- 
parting it  to  his  wife.  He  had  found  joy  almost  as  over- 
whelming as  sorrow.  So,  with  light  steps  and  lighter  hearts, 
these  united  brothers  wended  their  way  on  their  joyful 
errand,  and,  reaching  the  house,  begged  to  see  Mrs.  Barclay 
alone.  She  came  to  them  with  an  agitated  and  inquiring 
air,  and  demanded  the  cause  of  this  interview  so  ceremo- 
niously requested.  She  perceived,  at  once,  that  the  intelli- 
gence her  husband  and  brother  were  about  to  communicate 
was  not  of  an  afflicting  nature. 

'Catherine,'  said  Mr.  Richard,  'you,  who  have  borne, 
—  as  few  women  could  have  done  —  a  great  and  absorbing 
calamity,  and,  under  the  infliction,  have  showed  yourself 
to  possess  the  greatest  self-control  and  the  most  unequalled 
fortitude,  and  have,  through  the  whole  of  your  troubles, 
preserved  your  cheerfulness  in  an  extraordinary  manner ; 
can  you  bear  equally  well  their  removal  }  ' 

'  I  assure  you,  I  consider  this  one  of  the  happiest  moments 
of  my  life,  when  I  am  permitted,  by  my  brother's  kindness, 


OF  BOSTON. 


339 


to  be  the  harbinger  of  great  and  good  news,  and  entreat 
you  to  receive  it  calmly.' 

'  Is  Georgy's  husband  discovered  ? '  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bar- 
clay ;  '  this  can  be  nothing  else.' 

'  He  is  found,  and  is  in  Boston.' 

'  Who  is  he  'f  What  is  he  ?  For  the  love  of  heaven,  tell 
me.?' 

'  He  is  Julian  Seaton,  your  own  cousin's  son.' 

'God  be  praised!'  she  cried,  and  threw  herself  into 
her  husband's  arms. 

On  recovering  from  the  first  effects  of  her  delightful 
surprise,  Mrs.  Barclay  professed  herself  to  be  overflowing 
with  grathude  for  this  great  blessing  vouchsafed  to  her, 
—  the  restoration  of  her  child's  honor.  But  she  was  in  no- 
wise inclined  to  pardon  Julian.  She  had  a  rooted  aversion 
to  his  father  —  arising  from  some  passages  in  his  life  con- 
nected with  hers  —  and  imagined  that  no  good  whatever 
could  proceed  from  such  a  source.  It  appeared  that  Paul 
Seaton  had  fruitlessly  tried  to  win  her  favor,  and  had, 
on  her  constant  refusals  of  his  hand,  vowed  vengeance 
against  her,  plunged  into  all  sorts  of  dissipation,  and  then 
laid  all  his  misdoings  at  her  door.  He  had  declared  openly, 
that  if  she  had  married  him,  he  should  have  pursued  a 
different  course,  and  that  he  attributed  his  ruin  entirely 
to  her  rejection  of  his  suit.  This  often  occurs  where  women 
are  entirely  blameless,  and,  certainly,  Mrs.  Barclay  had 
no  reproaches  of  conscience,  for  her  cousin  was,  as  Mr. 
Richard  had  averred,  a  great  rascal  from  the  beginning, 
and  no  woman  on  earth  could  have  made  him  either  better 
or  worse.  But  he  had  chosen  to  make  her  the  scapegoat 
for  all  his  offences,  and  persisted  in  considering  himself 
a  most  ill-used  man,  when,  in  fact,  he  was  nothing  more 
than  a  worthless  profligate.  Women  often  bear  a  vast 
deal  of  odium  for  offences  quite  as  ill  founded  as  this. 

Mr.  Barclay  imparted  to  Mrs.  Sanderson  and  Mrs.  Mere- 
dith  the    great   good   fortune   that  had  befallen  them  all. 


340 


THE    BARCLAYS 


They  both  declared,  that,  firmly  believing  in  Iheir  sister's 
innocence,  not  a  shadow  of  a  doubt  had  ever  for  a  moment 
rested  upon  their  minds;  but  that,  naturally,  they  were 
transported  with  delight  to  be  able  to  proclaim  the  restora- 
tion of  her  husband,  and  that  he  was  exactly  the  person 
they  could  have  wished  him  to  be.  They  could  not  be 
persuaded  to  look  upon  the  romance  he  had  enacted  in 
the  same  light  as  their  mother;  they  rather  glossed  it  over, 
but  they  were  young  and  romantic,  and  looked  forward  to 
long  days  of  happiness  for  their  sister  and  her  newly-found 
husband. 

This  time  Mrs.  Meredith  waltzed  her  father  round  the 
room,  to  her  heart's  content  —  for  he  was  so  overflowing 
with  happiness  that  he  never  resisted.  Mrs.  Barclay,  on 
breaking  to  her  daughter  the  intelligence  she  had  received 
on  this  eventful  morning,  was  still  palpitating  under  the 
excitement  it  had  produced  in  her  own  feelings,  but  she 
elTected  her  purpose  judiciously.  Georgy  received  the  joyful 
news  of  the  re-cstablishment  of  her  honor  and  truth  with 
intense  delight  and  gratitude.  She  thanked  her  Creator 
for  having  vouchsafed  this  great  and  signal  mercy  to  her, 
and  wept  tears  of  contrition  on  the  bosom  of  the  mother, 
who  had  been  her  solace  and  comfort  through  her  tribu- 
lations. But  she  distinctly  and  positively  refused  to  see 
Julian  Seaton  ;  she  declared  she  had  irrevocably  made  up 
her  mind  to  this  course ;  that  her  feelings  were  entirely 
changed  towards  him  ;  and  that  an  interview  with  him 
would  but  open  anew  the  floodgates  of  her  sorrows  and  his. 
She  said,  that  this  having  been  her  fixed  determination  for 
a  long  time,  it  was  unchangeable,  and  no  efforts  of  others  — 
not  even  those  she  most  loved  and  worshipped  in  the  world 
—  would  induce  her  to  rescind  this  resolve.  She  said  she 
had  come  to  this  state  of  mind  from  long  and  deeply 
solemn  reflection,  and  was  convinced  that,  for  the  welfare 
of  both,  it  was  best. 

Mrs.  Barclay  imparted  her  daughter's  determination  to  her 


OF    BOSTON.  341 

husband.  He  would  have  wished  it  otherwise,  but  was 
convinced  that  Georgy  had  good  and  sufficient  reasons  for 
her  conduct,  which  she  might,  perchance,  desire  to  conceal ; 
of  their  rectitude  he  was  firmly  assured,  and  neither  he  nor 
his  wife  ever  inquired  their  nature. 

Gerald  Sanderson  went  immediately  to  Julian  Seaton, 
and  proffered  his  services  in  his  sick  room  as  reader,  at- 
tendant, or  friend.  Robert  Redmond  and  Charley  San- 
derson did  the  same.  Uncle  Richard  actually  installed 
himself  as  major  domo,  and  ordered  away  his  brother  and 
all  of  them,  when  they  talked  too  much  and  fatigued  the 
invalid.  There  was,  however,  one  exception,  and  this  was 
Mrs.  Betsy  Williams,  who  would  not  be  commanded  by 
any  man  living,  she  said  ;  and  came  and  went  at  her  own 
bidding.  The  captain  loved  Julian  like  a  child,  and  he 
carried  little  Mary  when  she  had  emerged  from  her  Pan- 
dora's box  —  for  chicken-pox  had  been  added  to  the  measles 

—  to  see  his  favorite,  and  Julian  taking  a  fancy  to  her,  she 
went  to  visit  him  daily.  Mrs.  Betsy  overloaded  him  with 
what  she  called  'goodies'  —  and  very  excellent  they  were 

—  such  jellies  and  creams  and  custards  as  she  made  for 
him  !  they  were  only  too  good. 

The  medical  man  who  attended  him,  seemed  to  be  highly 
interested  in  his  patient,  and  passed  hours  with  him.  His 
landlady  was  also  ever  indefatigable,  so  that  the  friendless 
and  forlorn  creature,  who  had  landed  on  the  American 
shore  in  complete  destitution,  found  himself  surrounded  by 
friends,  luxuries,  and  comforts.  Julian  Seaton  received  the 
fiat  of  his  doom  from  the  lips  of  ]\Ir.  Barclay,  who,  as  gently 
as  possible,  imparted  to  him  his  daughter's  decision.  He 
listened  with  tearful  eyes,  and,  groaning  in  spirit,  declared 
that  he  had  richly  merited  his  punishment.  He  was  con- 
vinced that  Georgiana  Barclay  loathed  him  for  his  duplicity, 
his  treachery,  that  her  pure  spirit  could  never  mingle  with 
his.  '  And  what  good  would  accrue,'  he  exclaimed,  '  from 
a  meeting  where  hearts  dissevered  can  never  more  be 
29* 


342  THE    BARCLAYS 

joined  together?  Your  daughter,  my  revered  friend,  has 
ceased  to  love  me,  I  should  expire  under  averted  glances ; 
the  eyes,  once  turned  to  mine  and  beaming  with  love  and 
afTeotion,  now  averted,  would  annihilate  me.  I  could  never 
survive  the  meeting.     I  am  convinced  she  detests  me.' 

'  She  has  pardoned  you.' 

'  With  that  I  must  rest  content.  I  have  not  long  to  bear 
my  martyrdom  ;  death,  welcome  death,  will  shortly  release 
me  from  my  sufferings,  and  1  shall  rejoin  my  sainted  mother 
where  sin  and  sorrow  are  no  more.  She  loved  me,  and  I 
had  not  forfeited  her  affection.  As  I  can  now  sit  up  a  por- 
tion of  the  day,  I  propose,  my  dearest  benefactor,  to  write 
for  you  —  with  your  consent  —  a  little  history  of  my  life, 
which,  as  I  finish,  I  will  give  to  you.  You  will  therein  dis- 
cover that  I  am  the  creature  of  circumstances,  having  been 
left  without  guidance  or  direction ;  and,  forgetful  of  the 
monitions  of  the  saint  now  in  paradise,  I  fell,  and  great  was 
my  fall.  It  was  a  sad  one.  I  carried  with  me  even  your 
daughter,  accursed  that  I  am.  My  death  will  restore  her  to 
liberty,  all  aspersions  on  her  fair  fame  being  removed  by 
my  re-appearance  in  your  land.  She  will  yet  be  spared  for 
a  long  life  of  happiness,  and  for  death,  1  pray,  and  ever 
shall.  I  watch  my  decaying  strength  with  intense  satis- 
faction, day  by  day,  and  ask  not  for  another  sun  to  rise 
over  my  devoted  head.' 

Mr.  Barclay  was  deeply  affected  by  this  interview.  This 
young  creature  becoming  daily  more  dear  to  him,  he  sj'm- 
pathized  with  him,  and  endeavored  to  console  him  under 
the  afflictions  which  gathered  around  him.  Julian  Seaton 
desired  to  see  a  Catholic  priest.  Mr.  Barclay  sent  one  to 
him  —  from  whose  presence  and  ministrations  he  seemed 
to  derive  infinite  peace  and  contentment  —  and  was  much 
calmer  and  more  cheerful  after  every  visit  he  received  from 
his  confessor.  Indeed,  the  good  man  devoted  himself  to  the 
sufferer,  and  remained  with  him  in  the  watches  of  the  night, 
when,  nervous  and  feverish,   he  could    obtain   no   repose. 


OF     BOSTON.  343 

and  only  left  him  when  he  saw  him  surrounded  by  his 
friends.  He  also  promised  to  be  with  him,  when  the  night, 
which,  coming  to  all,  precedes  '  the  day-spring  from  on 
high,'  emanating  from  heaven's  wide  portals, 

Mr.  Barclay  received  a  letter  from  Julian  Seaton,  which 
will  be  read  in  the  next  chapter.  It  was  brought  by  Captain 
Williams,  who  stated  that  he  had  just  seen  off  that  plaguey 
woman,  whose  good  for  nothing  life  had  been  saved  at  the 
expense  of  a  fellow,  who  was  worth  a  million  such  petti- 
coats. '  She'd  gone  to  Kentucky,'  he  said,  '  for  to  find  her 
sweetheart,  who  had  written  for  her  to  come  to  America, 
and  had  sent  her  the  money  to  pay  her  way  along ;  and  the 
worst  harm  he  wished  her,  was  that  he  himself  might  never 
set  his  two  eyes  upon  her  again.' 

Mr.  Barclay  was  quite  astonished  at  this  ebullition  of 
temper  on  the  part  of  his  old  friend  ;  but  it  afterwards  trans- 
pired that  Mrs.  Betsy  Williams  had  actually  got  jealous  of 
'  the  Italian  crittur,'  and  the  poor  captain  had  no  peace  in 
his  life,  and  was  naturally  greatly  relieved  when  the  girl 
departed.  She  had  taken  an  affecting  farewell  of  her  pre- 
server, and  had  made  him  quite  ill  by  the  violence  of  her 
grief  at  parting. 


844  THE    BARCLAYS 


CHAPTER   XL. 


'  Oh  Rome  I  my  country  !  city  of  the  soul ! 
The  orphans  of  the  heart  must  turn  to  thee, 
Lone  mother  of  dead  empires  !  and  control, 
In  their  shut  breasts  their  petty  misery.' 

By  EON. 

'  To  John  Barclay,  Esq. 

'  Not  daring,  Sir,  to  address  this  letter  to  your  angelic 
daughter,  over  whose  young  days  it  has  been  my  melancholy 
lot  to  cast  a  mantle  of  sorrow  and  trouble,  which  not  all 
the  repentant  agony  I  am  now  enduring  will  ever  dispel,  I 
venture,  at  your  solicitations,  to  write  you  the  history  of  ray 
life,  now  that  it  is  fast  closing.  I  could  not,  for  a  moment, 
dream  that  you  would  take  any  interest  in  one  so  fallen  as 
myself,  were  not  the  destiny  of  your  child  so  fearfully 
mixed  up  with  mine  as  to  make  my  own  insignificant  course 
of  importance  to  you.  On  the  eve  of  standing  before  my 
great  Judge,  and  in  his  awful  presence,  receiving  the  award 
of  my  punishment  for  my  sins,  I  can  confess  nothing  but 
the  sacred  truth  ;  and  that  you  shall  learn  without  any  fruit- 
less attempt  at  extenuation  or  diminution. 

'  I  do  not  think  I  was  born  to  the  heritage  of  dishonor, 
which  has  weighed  down  my  spirit  and  bowed  my  head  to 
my  mother  earth  in  shame  and  despair,  for  I  have  ever  so 
felt  mv  degradation,  even  in  my  wildest  flights  of  imagina- 
tion and  misdeeds.  This,  and  my  present  state  of  regener- 
ated life,  induces  me  to  believe,  that  if  I  could  have  enjoyed 
the  priceless  blessing  of  a  home,  I  might  have  been  a  widely 
diflerent  being  from  the  one  who  nov/  pours  forth  his  whole 


OF    BOSTON.  345 

soul  in  supplications  for  your  mercy,  and  who  asks  but  the 
boon  of  your  forgiveness,  and  that  of  your  afflicted  child, 
to  die  in  comparative  peace. 

'  In  order  that  you  should  thoroughly  understand  my  his- 
tory, 1  must  naturally  mingle  with  it  a  relation  of  my  father's 
course  of  life,  and  that  this  development  will  cost  me  many 
a  pang,  need  I  say  to  you,  whose  whole  existence  has  been 
one  of  such  unblemished  purity  ?  Would  to  God  that  I  could 
tell  my  sad  and  miserable  tale  without  mentioning  the  name 
of  the  author  of  my  being,  but  it  cannot  be,  and,  as  I  pro- 
ceed, I  feel  that  to  no  one  but  to  you,  and  influenced  by  the 
sad  circumstances  which  have  produced  the  necessity  of 
this  missive,  could  I  have  found  strength  and  resolution  to 
unfold  the  pages  of  my  own  existence,  which  so  fearfully 
involve  my  father's  reputation. 

'  Of  the  antecedents  of  my  parent's  career  in  .  Boston  I 
believe  you  to  be  well  acquainted,  having  been  his  class- 
mate in  college  life.  I  have  often  heard  him  say,  he, 
for  some  reason  unknown  to  me,  bore  towards  you  and 
yours  a  deadly  hatred,  and  although  I  have  essayed,  times 
out  of  mind,  to  get  at  its  cause,  I  utterly  failed.  My  gene- 
ral impression,  from  my  knowledge  of  your  character,  is  that 
he  never  forgave  you  for  having  been  through  life  in  ad- 
vance of  him,  in  every  thing.  I  have  often  heard  him,  in 
his  stormy  gusts  of  passion,  swear  vengeance  against  you  ; 
but  when  I  prayed  him  to  reveal  to  me  the  cause  of  this 
deeply  rooted  hatred,  he  would  never  accede  to  my  request, 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  ill  treated  me,  and  commanded  me 
never  to  touch  upon  a  subject  so  revolting  to  him. 

'  On  one  occasion,  and  one  only,  I  jieard  him  mention  a 
name,  and  that  was  in  a  fit  of  delirium,  arising  from  a  vio- 
lent fever,  under  which  he  was  laboring,  after  my  sainted 
mother's  death  in  Florence.  Not*  paying  much  attention  to 
it  at  the  time,  I  did  not  remember  the  word,  but  now  that 
my  reminiscences  are  vividly  aroused,  and  every  circum- 
stance appertaining  to  that  period  arises  like  a  living  picture 


346  THE    BARCLAYS 

before  my  sight,  I  think  he  declared  he  would  be  revenged 

on   you  for  supplanting  him  in  the  favor  of  Catherine ; 

the  rest  of  the  name  I  heard  not. 

'  In  Florence,  the  city  of  flowers,  I  saw  the  light,  and 
basking  in  the  bright  sunshine  of  my  mother's  eyes  I  revelled 
in  all  the  joys  accompanying  the  childhood  of  an  idolized 
first-born.  The  demonstrations  of  affection  I  received,  were 
much  more  ardent  than  those  which  the  well-tempered  nature 
of  your  countrywomen  bestow  upon  their  offspring,  how- 
ever tender  and  absorbing  may  be  their  maternal  feelings. 
Again,  I  believe,  that  my  mother,  who  had  lavished  all 
the  rich  treasure  of  her  impassioned  soul  on  my  father,  on 
finding  herself  deceived  and  disappointed  in  him,  centred 
her  whole  heart  in  me,  —  and  such  a  heart!  I  thus  became 
to  her  the  spring-tide  of  her  existence,  the  fount  from  which 
she  drew  her  whole  being. 

'My  first  recollections  of  her,  were  those  of  a  creature 
beaming  with  resplendent  beauty,  and  full  of  poetry,  religion, 
and  love.  My  mother  would  have  been  considered  unedu- 
cated in  America,  but  the  very  language  she  spoke  was  mu- 
sic, and  her  passion  for  the  poets  of  her  own  beauteous  land 
was  intense.  Not  a  day  passed  that  she  did  not  repeat  to 
mc  the  verses  of  Tasso  and  Ariosto,  and,  in  fact,  I  was 
taught  to  lisp  in  numbers,  and  exhibited  to  her  friends  as  a 
prodigy  of  attainment.  Family,  my  mother  had  none,  — 
she  was  an  unprotected  orphan,  with  a  small  fortune,  when 
my  father  made  her  acquaintance.  Captivated  by  her  beau- 
ty and  native  talent,  he  sought,  and  won  the  lovely  creature, 
and,  having  married  her,  he  tired  of  her  almost  immediate- 
ly. She  was  treated  with  some  degree  of  affection  until 
after  my  birth,  and  then  he  resumed  his  old  habits  of  gam- 
bling, and  she  saw  little  of  him  ;  for  the  time  he  passed  in 
his  own  house  was  usually  consumed  in  sleep.  Sometimes, 
for  days,  and  even  weeks,  he  never  left  the  hells  he  fre- 
quented, and  only  returned  to  look  upon  his  young  wife  and 


OF     BOSTON.  347 

child  when  a  run  of  ill  luck  had  come  over  him,  or  a  bank 
was  broken. 

'  At  first,  she  was  very  miserable  at  his  neglect,  but  her 
buoyant  nature  actually  rebelled  against  sorrow,  and  then  she 
had  her  boy,  her  worshipped  child,  over  whom  she  would 
hang  in  an  ecstacy  of  maternal  tenderness.  She  would  ex- 
claim' "  Even."  thing  but  thee  can  I  renounce,  my  heart's 
treasure,  my  soul,  my  light  of  life,  my  jewel."  She  would 
wander  about  with  me  in  the  gardens  and  galleries,  showing 
me  all  the  wonders  of  the  palaces  of  art  with  which  Flor- 
ence abounds,  and  teaching  me  the  history  of  all  the  saints 
whom  she  worshipped.  We  regularly  attended  all  the  church 
festivals,  and  amidst  their  pomp  and  ceremonies  she  would 
thank  God  that  he  had  allowed  her  to  breathe  her  first  breath 
of  life  in  glorious  Italy,  the  land  of  the  poet  and  the  painter. 
Sometimes  there  would  a  cloud  pass  over  the  spirit  of  her 
dream,  and  she  would  ask  me  in  the  most  impassioned  tones 
if  I  thought  my  father  would  ever  have  the  cruelty  to  tear 
her  away  from  this  Eden,  and  force  her  to  go  to  his  own 
cold  and  ice-bound  country.  "I  should  die,"  she  would 
exclaim,  "  in  that  frigid  zone,  my  very  heart  would  be  frozen 
up  ;  he  says  there  are  no  pictures,  no  gardens,  no  statues 
there.  Alas!  alas!  what  will  become  of  your  poor  mother, 
with  no  friends,  no  neighbors,  no  theatres,  no  churches,  and 
no  English  !  " 

'  At  these  times  I  comforted  her  as  well  as  I  could.  Many 
of  these  things  which  I  now  relate  respecting  my  earliest 
davs  my  mother  confided  to  me  ;  such  as  the  first  indications 
of  my  father's  declining  love  for  her,  and  his  consequent 
neglect.  "  Ah,"  she  would  exclaim,  "■  my  beloved  Julian,  I 
should  have  laid  me  down  in  one  of  the  churches,  at  the 
feet  of  the  blessed  Virgin  and  slept  my  last  sleep,  had  I  not 
possessed  my  adored  child  ;  my  life  would  have  been  a 
dreary  waste,  but  for  the  blessing  vouchsafed  to  me  in  my 
bov.  At  first,  I  thought  my  heart  would  break,  and  surely 
none  ever  will  if  mine   did  not,  but  I  prayed  to  the  Holy 


348  THE    BARCLAYS 

Mother,  and  she,  taking  pity  on  my  acute  sufferings,  raised 
up  such  a  feeble  creature  as  I  am,  and  gave  me  my  child. 
And  then  I  soon  began  to  perceive  that  the  stream  of  love 
which  had  flowed  so  rapidly  towards  your  father  was  cen- 
tred in  my  innocent  babe,  and  I  cared  no  longer  for  his 
absences,  at  which  I  had  been  in  the  habit  of  weeping  my 
soul  out.  I  cared  no  longer  for  them  !  how  terrible  this 
sad  truth  appeared  to  me  when  it  broke  upon  me  ! 

' "  I  was  then  encompassed  in  clouds  and  darkness,  a 
midnight  in  my  soul,  but  soon  a  little  ray  of  light  illumed 
this  dense  gloom.  It  was,  indeed,  so  small,  so  very  small, 
but  it  increased  and  became  the  morning's  dawn  with  all  its 
dewy,  balmy  freshness.  Ah  !  how  I  rejoiced  in  it.  1  was 
another  creature  ;  never  had  I  been  so  happy  before,  not 
even  when  he  worshipped  me  in  the  earliest  period  of  my 
acquaintance  with  him,  —  not  even  when  he  first  poured 
forth  his  love  for  me."  Well  do  I  remember  the  time  and 
the  scene  wherein  these  outpourings  of  my  beautiful  moth- 
er's feelings  were  made.  We  lived  in  the  first  floor  of  an 
old  palace  ;  all  our  rooms  opening  on  to  a  large  garden 
thickly  planted  with  superb  trees,  and  to  which  iny  mother 
had  added  myriads  of  flowers.  The  sitting-room  of  thd 
family  was  so  large,  that  in  the  evening  when  she  taufjlit 
me  my  lessons  at  the  table,  by  the  light  of  a  bright  lamp, 
it  was  mostly  enveloped  in  shadow.  The  children  here 
would  be  frightened  out  of  their  senses  to  live  in  such  a 
place ;  but  my  mother  was  there,  and  I  never  had  known 
fear.  It  was  not  in  the  house,  however,  that  her  revelations 
were  made  to  me  ;  she  always  preferred  a  stone  seat  in  the 
garden,  where,  under  the  umbrageous  protection  of  wide- 
spread trees,  she  repeated  her  simple  history.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  the  walls  of  our  dwelling  produced  some  decidedly 
oppressive  effect  upon  her  spirits,  so  doated  she  upon  the 
open  air;  for  she  never  was  half  so  communicative,  or  half 
so  charmino;  in-doors.     Oh !    those   blessed  davs !     How  I 


OF    BOSTON.  349 

pine  to  live  them  over.  That  garden  of  Armida,  my  glo- 
riously beautiful  mother,  all  gone  !  never  to  re-appear. 

'I  have  mentioned  my  lessons,  —  these  consisted  of  all 
she  could  teach,  —  my  church  practices,  reading,  writing, 
and  music.  A  beautiful  Italian  hand  was  my  mother's ; 
and  she  played  delightfully  on  the  guitar,  and  accompanied 
herself  with  great  skill  and  talent,  having  been  thoroughly 
taught.  These  things  she  imparted  to  me  in  such  a  winning 
manner,  that  I  knew  not  when,  or  how,  1  acquired  them. 
It  was  a  melancholy  proof  of  the  all-devouring  and  absorb- 
ing nature  of  my  father's  hateful  pursuits,  if  any  were 
wanting,  that  he,  an  American,  should  have  permitted  his 
only  son,  for  aught  he  knew  to  the  contrary,  to  be  brought 
up  in  utter  ignorance.  But  so  it  was.  He  would,  when  in 
a  pleasant  mood,  take  me  upon  his  knee  and  caress  me; 
but  then  these  moods  were  rare,  few,  and  far  between,  and 
his  constant  absences  prevented  his  knowing  hardly  any 
thing  about  me.  My  father  was  in  the  habit  of  running 
down  to  Venice.  He  never  invited  my  mother  to  accom- 
pany him,  nor  did  she  appear  to  wish  to  go,  for  she  was 
satisfied  to  be  left  at  home.  She  had  a  little  circle  of  friends 
who  sufficed  for  her  amusement,  as  far  as  social  life  went ; 
and  certainly  they  had  a  vast  deal  more  genial  intercourse 
than  I  have  ever  seen  in  this  country. 

*  These  good  people  met  together  in  the  summer  evenings 
in  their  different  dwellings  constantly  ;  nothing  was  given  in 
the  way  of  refreshments,  and  consequently  there  were  no 
tedious  preparatory  arrangements  to  mar  their  pleasure. 
The  talk  was  of  the  next  Church  festival,  the  poets,  some 
distinguished  holy  father's  preaching,  some  remarkable  art- 
ist who  had  but  lately  sprung  up,  the  vagaries  of  the  foreign- 
ers abiding  in  the  place.  I  well  remember  the  horror  of  my 
mother's  circle  at  the  appearance  of  a  stage-coach  set  up 
by  a  stranger  nobleman,  driven  by  himself!  — they  could 
not  be  reconciled  to  such  things ;  to  which  was  added  the 
enormity  of  putting  his  men  and  women  servants  inside. 
30 


350  THE    BARCLAYS 

These  little  parties  always  finished  with  music,  and  many  a 
concert  have  I  heard  in  this  country  that  was  not  half  so 
good,  —  the  soul,  the  enthusiasm  was  wanting. 

'  One  day  my  father  came  rushing  home,  in  most  exube- 
rant spirits,  and  kissing  my  mother,  a  thing  he  rarely  did, 
threw  into  her  lap  a  very  large  sum  in  rouleaus  of  gold,  say- 
ing, "  There,  take  this  money,  and  go  to  Rome  and  enjoy 
the  holy  city  to  your  heart's  content.  Stay  as  long  as  you 
like ;  I  will  go  and  see  you  when  I  have  leisure.  You 
know  you  have  always  desired  this  above  all  things  on 
earth."  And  very  true  was  this,  for  my  mother  had  been 
lately  pining  to  behold  the  Pope,  and  besides  the  Montinis,  a 
family  she  dearly  loved,  were  about  to  remove  there.  So 
all  these  thinjis  combined  to  make  this  delisfhtful  to  her,  and 
she  fell  on  my  father's  neck,  and  thanked  him  in  a  flood  of 
joyful  tears. 

'  At  last,  came  the  happy  day.  I  was  then  ten  years  of 
age,  and  crazed  with  delight  at  the  prospect  of  beholding 
my  mother's  blessed  haven,  for  so  she  called  it.  All  pros- 
pered ;  the  Montinis  taking  charge  of  us,  engaged  a  vettu- 
rino ;  honest  Babel,  who  permitted  me  the  great  favor  of 
sitting  by  his  side  on  the  coach-box,  told  me  all  manner  of 
pleasant  talcs  besides.  This  man  was  a  person  who  would 
have  talked  to  himself  had  I  not  been  perched  upon  the  box 
with  him  ;  so  he  was  very  gracious  indeed,  and  charmingly 
communicative.  My  father  lifted  me  into  the  seat,  embrac- 
ing me  the  while,  and  having  performed  the  same  ceremony 
to  my  mother,  he  waived  his  hat  in  the  air ;  Babel  cracked 
his  long  whip  with  a  terrible  noise,  and  we  were  off.  The 
journey  was  enchanting,  our  companions  so  kind  and  atten- 
tive to  my  mother  and  myself,  —  and  Babel,  I  shall  never 
forget  him.  We  crossed  the  mountains  happily  with  one 
most  interesting  event.  I  was  awakened  from  a  profound 
sleep  by  Babel,  who  exclaimed,  "  Up,  up,  boy,  and  see  the 
robbers  ! "  and  surely  there  were  before  me  three  men, 
guarded  by  soldiers,  who,    in    their  picturesque    costumes, 


OF    BOSTON.  351 

velvet  dresses,  and  plumed  hats,  with  even  a  bouquet  in 
the  button-hole,  were  a  sight  indeed  !  They  were  tied  to 
their  horses,  but  seemed  any  thing  but  miserable.  Our 
whole  party  congratulated  themselves  on  having  encoun- 
tered them  under  such  circumstances,  and  I  thanked  the 
vetturino  heartily  for  having  shown  them  to  me. 

'*U'^e  came  within  sight  of  the  "  Eternal  City."  "  Bel- 
lissima  Roma  ! "  my  mother  cried.  Indeed,  she  had  even 
added  out  of  her  own  purse  another  horse  at  the  last  post- 
house,  that  we  might  reach  "  the  haven  "  by  sunset.  And 
such  a  sunset  !  Glorious  ones  have  you  in  your  own  land, 
but  nothing  to  ours.  We  all  descended  from  the  carriage  at 
Babel's  shout  of  "  Roma  !  Roma  !  "  and,  kneeling,  thanked 
God  for  his  mercy  in  being  allowed  to  behold  St.  Peter's. 
My  mother  afterwards  cried,  laughed,  sang,  and  danced,  in 
which  variety  of  joyful  exercises  she  was  joined  by  her 
friends,  and  I  am  quite  sure,  had  the  whole  party  been  seen 
by  any  Americans,  they  would  have  been  considered  fitting 
subjects  for  an  insane  establishment.  As  we  entered  the 
gates  of  Rome,  and  were  stopped  by  the  "customs,"  we 
saw  a  woman  holding  the  head  of  a  horse,  while  a  man  was 
engaged  with  the  officers.  This  pair  had  passed  us  in  our 
day's  journey,  and  we  had  supposed  they  were  out  on  a 
pleasure  excursion  of  a  few  hours.  Not  a  bit,  —  they  had 
travelled  from  Paris  with  a  one-horse  stanhope  without  a  top. 
Of  course  they  were  English,  and  my  mother  said  she  sup- 
posed it  was  some  wager.  We  met  them  again  at  our  hotel, 
and  they  said  they  were  going  to  Naples,  after  remaining  a 
week  in  Rome. 

'  After  a  good  night's  sleep,  my  mother  aroused  me  and 
said,  "  Awake,  my  Julian,  awake,  we  are  in  Rome.  And 
Oh  !  how  very  happy  I  am,  and  I  hope  you  are  also.  Now 
we  will  have  a  good  breakfast,  and  depart  for  Saint  Peter's. 
The  ^lontinis  take  a  carriage,  and  you  shall  go  with  them, 
but  I  will  approach  that  sacred  building  in  no  way  but  on 
foot."  I,  however,  pleaded  and  begged  so  hard  to  accompany 


352  .     THE    BARCLAYS 

her  that  she,  being  unable  to  refuse  me  any  thing,  consented, 
and  weary  enough  was  I,  when,  having  traversed  ail  man- 
ner of  dirty  streets  and  narrow  lanes,  we  emerged  into  the 
magnificent  part  of  the  blessed  city,  and  passing  the  Castle 
of  Saint  Angelo,  found  ourselves  in  front  of  the  Church.  My 
mother,  kneeling,  returned  thanks  on  the  pavement,  and  we 
walked  up  the  grand  entrance,  and  drawing  aside  the  curtain 
which  is  before  the  side-door,  we  stood  breathless  with  awe 
and  amazement  in  Saint  Peter's.  I  say  we,  for  though  too 
young  for  such  a  state  of  excitement,  my  mother's  enthusi- 
asm had  been  communicated  to  me  in  an  uncommon  degree, 
and  never  have  I  since  experienced  the  same  sensations. 
She  said  she  would  not  go  into  the  Vatican  that  day,  Saint 
Peter's  was  all-sufficient ;  but  the  Montinis  insisting,  she  was 
dragged  there  much  against  her  will,  as  she  seemed  to  think 
this  proceeding  almost  disrespectful  to  the  holy  place.  They, 
however,  pleaded,  and  said  she  must  see  the  Apollo.  Siie 
did  not  go  down  on  her  knees  to  it,  though  1  almost  thought 
she  would  ;  for  my  own  part,  I  had  an  earnest  desire  to  pay 
the  same  compliment  to  a  lion  in  the  hall  of  the  animals. 

'  My  mother  took  an  apartment  in  the  Via  Babuino,  a  suf- 
ficiently dark  and  gloomy  street,  but  the  Montinls  liked  it  as 
being  near  their  business,  and  so  we  resided  together  in 
great  peace  and  harmony. 

'  Oh,  Sir  !  will  you  ever  pardon  me  for  my  wearisome 
prolixity.'  You  have  been  too  indulgent  to  me;  and,  as 
you  have  berrced  me  to  omit  nothing  which  would  throw 
light  upon  my  career,  I  have  borne  this  request  in  mind.  I 
am  fearful  that  I  have  imposed  upon  your  kindness  and  pa- 
tience. Neither  do  I  write  so  very  readily  in  English  ;  it  is 
just  so  in  my  conversation,  for  I  am  apt  to  halt  terribly  ;  and 
then  when  I  drop  my  pen  and  reflect  for  a  moment  to  whom 
I  am  writing,  I  am  deeply  impressed  with  your  goodness  and 
forbearance,  and  blush  at  my  own  hardihood. 

'  I  shall  forward  to  you  this  long  epistle  to-day,  which  will 
be  followed  by  another  to-morrow,  and  so  on,  until  con- 


OF    BOSTON.  353 

eluded ;  for  I  never  tire  of  lingering  amid  the  scenes  of  my 
lost  innocence,  and  dread  the  moment  when  I  must  emerge 
from  them,  and  enter  upon  a  recital  of  my  misery  and  my 
misdeeds.  May  the  peace  that  passeth  all  earthly  show, 
and  the  blessing  of  the  orphan,  rest  upon  your  head. 

'  With  great  consideration  and  profound  respect,  I  am  your 
obliged  and  devoted  Julian.' 


30* 


354  THE    BARCLAYS 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

'  Five  years  —  like  yon  bright  valley,  sown 
Alternately  with  weeds  and  flowers, 
Had  swiftly,  if  not  gaily,  flown. 
And  I  still  loved  the  rosy  hours.' 

N.  P.  Willis. 

'Since  you  have  been  pleased  to  say,  my  best  friend, 
that  you  liked  not  the  formality  of  my  style  to  you  in  my 
former  letter,  I  will  now  address  my  benefactor,  and  resume 
the  thread  of  my  narrative. 

'  We  lived,  my  mother  and  myself,  with  the  dear  Mon- 
tinis,  five  short  years.  Oh  !  how  rapidly  they  vanished  ; 
they  were  always  and  ever  the  same  simple,  kind-hearted 
people.  I  think  nothing  can  surpass  the  naturalness  of  the 
Italians ;  there  is  no  affectation  in  them,  high  and  low  are 
all  alike,  in  that  respect  equally  true  to  themselves. 

'  Our  housekeeping  in  Florence  had  been  always  of  the 
most  unpretending  character  ;  our  modest  repasts  consisting 
chiefly  of  vegetables  and  fruit,  which  an  old  woman  pre- 
pared. At  Rome,  my  mother,  having  literally  nothing  to 
do,  wandered  about  the  livelong  day  in  the  ruins,  galleries, 
gardens  and  churches.  We  often  sallied  forth  in  the  morn- 
ing, taking  our  simple  dinner  with  us,  and  returned  only 
when  the  shadows  of  evening  fell  upon  the  Campagna, 
seldom  or  never  failing  to  climb  the  Pincian  Hill,  to  look  out 
upon  the  glorious  sun  in  his  setting.  During  this  time  I 
took  lessons  in  drawing,  as  I  had  a  small  natural  talent  at 
sketching,  and  practised  my  little  art  in  these  excursions. 
The  evenings  were  devoted  to  music  and  books  and  society, 


OF   BOSTON.  355 

for  we  soon  had  a  pleasant  circle  around  us;  my  mother's 
genial  and  social  qualities  always  attracting  pleasant  people. 
They  accused  her  of  having  some  method  even  in  her 
rambles,  for  she  was  always  at  home  by  eight  in  the 
evening,  and  delighted  to  see  them. 

'My  father  would  "run  up  to  Rome,*'  as  he  said,  for  a 
few  days,  but  soon  tired  of  the  city.  He  thought  it  dull, 
very  dull,  —  he  never  took  much  notice  of  me,  and  I  fan- 
cied my  mother  felt  much  relieved  when  he  departed.  The 
society  of  artists  was  never  much  to  his  taste;  he  liked  the 
foreigners,  and  they  were  quieter  in  Rome  than  in  Florence. 
The  Montinis  said,  "  They  had  tRe  grace  to  pay  the  Eternal 
City  that  respect,  if  they  did  nothing  else ;  there  were  no 
English  stage-coaches  there,"  —  those  vehicles  were  sad 
bugbears  to  our  friends.  We  always  went  two  or  three 
times  a  week  to  Saint  Peter's ;  then  we  repaired  to  the  Vat- 
ican, and  having  remained  in  its  "halls  of  living  light" 
until  we  were  frozen  up  in  the  winter,  we  then  returned  to 
the  Church,  and  warmed  ourselves  in  its  perfect  atmosphere. 
My  dear  simple  mother  really  believed  that  the  holiness  of 
this  tabernacle  produced  this  genial  temperature.  The 
artists  told  me  it  was  the  thickness  of  its  walls.  They, 
however,  never  thought  proper  to  enlighten  her.  While 
she  was  praying  at  all  the  shrines,  I  would  sit,  for  hours, 
before  the  tomb  of  the  last  of  the  Stuarts.  How  very  beau- 
tiful it  was  to  me!  less  elaborate  than  others,  I  could  the 
more  easily  take  it  into  my  heart's  core,  —  the  mournful 
caryatides  !  trailing  their  funereal  torches  on  the  ground, 
and  patiently  awaiting  the  opening  of  its  closed  portals 
when  the  last  trump  shall  sound,  possessed  for  me  an  inde- 
scribable charm.  Often  my  mother  had  finished  her  orisons 
long  ere  I  could  be  aroused  from  my  day-dreams,  before 
this  shrine  of  beauty. 

'  This  sort  of  life  had  no  chastening  or  strengthening 
character  in  it  for  me ;  I  acquired  a  bad  habit  of  dreaming, 
with  my  eyes  wide  open;  I  am  sure  I  was  often  as  sound 


356  THE    BARCLAYS 

asleep  as  if  they  had  been  shut.  I  became  thoughtful,  ab- 
stracted, not  unhappy,  —  no,  never  with  Aer,  —  but  a  castle- 
builder,  a  visionary,  just  what  Gerald  Sanderson  has  so 
miraculously  escaped.  Perhaps  if  I  had  enjoyed  the  ines- 
timable advantage  of  such  counsel  as  he  received  and  ac- 
cepted, I  might  have  been  radically  cured  of  my  folly.  It 
was  not  so  to  be,  and  I  will  not  now  repine.  The  decree  of 
Providence  has  gone  forth,  and  I  humbly  submit.  Were 
my  life  spared,  I  should  never  be  much  more  than  I  am 
now,  and  for  one  all-important  reason  I  ask  it  not,  —  she 
will  be  fi-ee. 

'  One  day  when  I  had  fallen  into  an  absent  lit  before  the 
tomb  of  Clement  the  Thirteenth,  —  Oh  !  the  wonderful 
lions  !  —  I  was  rudely  awoke  by  a  grand  procession  of  hor- 
rid old  men  and  women  emerging  from  the  mausoleum, 
carrying  mops,  pails,  dusters,  watering-pots,  brooms,  and 
brushes,  and  was  thus  painfully  made  aware  of  its  being 
cleaning  day  in  Saint  Peter's.  At  first,  I  imagined  this  to 
be  a  frightful  nightmare,  but  afterwards  discovered  there 
was  a  receptacle  for  all  these  utilities  somewhere  about  the 
tomb ;  the  waking  lions  seemed  to  glare  upon  them  fero- 
ciously.    My  mother  laughed  heartily  at  this  adventure. 

'  I  read  a  vast  many  novels,  and  devoured  all  the  works  on 
chivalry  I  could  procure,  and  began  to  aspire  to  do  battle  for 
some  fair  damsel ;  but,  somehow,  never  found  one.  The  Ro- 
man girls  of  my  age  were  all  locked  up  in  con  vents  and  schools, 
and,  though  there  were  many  beautiful  English,  I  was  unac- 
quainted with  them,  and  consequently  could  have  no  access 
to  them.  I  have  informed  you  that  I  lived  in  the  Via  Babuino. 
This  street  is  almost  entirely  devoted  to  lodging-houses. 
My  mother  and  I  had  great  amusement  in  the  winter  in 
watching  the  arrivals  and  departures  of  the  occupants,  who 
did  not  remain  long.  At  last,  an  American  family  took  the 
apartments  in  the  first  story,  directly  opposite  us,  and  we 
heard  they  were  to  remain  many  months.  I  had  always  a 
great  thirst  for  any  information  respecting  my  father's  birth- 


OF    BOSTON.  357 

place,  and,  judge  of  my  delight,  when  I  heard  they  were 
from  Boston.  I  resolved  to  become  acquainted  with  them, 
if  possible,  and  this  was  not  difficult.  I  succeeded  in  arrest- 
ing the  attention  of  the  ladies  of  the  party  by  some  slightly 
rendered  service,  and  they  invited  me  to  visit  them.  My 
first  appearance  amongst  them,  —  for  there  were  two  gen- 
tlemen also,  —  was  not  at  all  advantageous  to  me,  for  I  was 
so  excessively  agitated  I  could  hardly  command  my  over- 
wrought feelings.  The  second  time  I  did  better,  and  informed 
them  of  the  cause  of  my  apparent  stupidity ;  they  asked  me 
many  questions,  and  amongst  others,  the  name  of  my  father, 
which  I  answered.  They  kindly  begged  permission  to  visit 
my  mother,  but  their  request  was  politely  refused ;  she  said 
she  could  not  speak  English,  and  never  wished  to  do  so.  I 
urged  her  to  receive  these  ladies,  but  she  was  inexorable ; 
so  I  made  all  the  necessary  apologies  for  her  apparent  de- 
ficiency in  liospitality ;  and  I  should  have  gone  to  them 
oftener  myself,  but  for  the  terrible  fires  they  kept.  I  would 
leave  our  own  windows  open,  while  my  mother,  in  a  thin  white 
dress,  was  looking  out  from  them,  and  go  across  the  street  and 
find  my  American  friends  shivering  and  shaking  with  what 
they  were  pleased  to  call  the  intense  cold,  and  crouching 
around  the  hearth.  Now,  I  believe  that,  measured  by  a 
thermometer,  you  have  more  real  cold  in  this  country,  in 
a  month,  than  we  have  in  a  whole  year  in  all  Italy.  They 
kindly  invited  me  to  dine  ;  but  such  dinners  as  I  then  thought 
them,  such  loads  of  meat ;  I  ventured  to  tell  them  they  could 
not  continue  this  practice  if  they  remained  for  any  time 
in  our  climate. 

*  There  was  also  another  custom,  very  disagreeable  to 
me,  tne  abundance  of  flowers.  We  think  them  unhealthy, 
and  one  day  when  the  ladies  offered  me  a  bouquet  for  my 
mother  I  gratefully  declined  their  proffer,  at  which  they 
were  astonished,  and  inquired  the  reason.  I  told  them  she 
would  not  allow  them  to  remain  in  her  room  ;  we  liked 
flowers  in  the  open  air,  but  not  in  our  houses.     They  then 


358  THE    BARCLAYS 

remembered  that  their  Italian  maid  had  declared  she  was 
made  ill  by  the  great  profusion  of  flowers  and  perfumes 
they  had  ever  about  them,  and  speculated  upon  the  singular- 
ity of  these  things,  attributing  them  to  difference  of  climate. 
Finding  myself  always  ill  after  their  repasts,  I  was  obliged 
after  this  to  decline  invitations,  but  went,  occasionally  in  the 
evening,  when  they  had  a  charming  variety  of  persons. 
The  conversation  was  delightful,  —  such  a  number  of  inter- 
esting topics  were  discussed. 

'These  lodgings  were  ill-furnished,  and  this  gave  rise  to 
many  amusing  scenes.  One  evening  the  lady,  who  always 
presided  at  the  tea-table,  —  I  could  never  be  persuaded  to 
drink  any  of  the  nauseous  stuff, — confided  to  me  a  great 
misadventure.  Just  as  she  was  preparing  to  make  the 
"  exhilarating  beverage,"  I  think  they  called  it,  Peter,  their 
servant,  informed  her  that  the  only  tea-pot  they  possessed 
was  broken.  Here  was  a  dilemma,  indeed.  The  lady  told 
him  he  must  find  one,  and  he  departed,  saying  he  would  not 
return  without  one.  So  she  whispered  to  me  we  must  be  as 
agreeable  as  avc  can  to  cover  and  hide  our  trouble,  and  you 
must  play  and  sing.  Accordingly  I  did,  and  in  an  hour  and 
a  half  Peter  returned  with  such  a  thing  !  The  shops  all 
shut,  it  was  impossible  to  buy  one,  and  he  had  scoured  all 
Rome  before  he  could  even  borrow  one.  Its  arrival  was  a 
source  of  great  joy  and  amusement  to  the  assembled  guests. 
Many  times  there  were  not  spoons  enough,  so  many  visiters 
were  there  ;  and  then  she  always  begged  the  frequenters  of 
the  house  patiently  to  await  the  serving  of  those  wiio  were 
more  of  strangers.  Very  merry  times  were  these,  and  I 
enjoyed  them  immensely. 

'  My  mother  said  to  mc,  after  a  description  I  had  given 
to  her  of  one  of  my  visits  to  the  ladies,  "  Julian,  if  I  thought 
those  women  would  make  you  forget  me  for  an  instant,  you 
should  never  enter  their  doors  again."  I  threw  myself  into 
her  arms,  and  told  her  I  would  never  see  them  more.  Upon 
this,  she  relented,  and  said,  "I  do  not  wish  to  deprive  you 


OF    BOSTON.  359 

of  any  pleasure  on  earth,  but  you  are  all  I  possess  in  this 
world,  and  the  deprivation  of  one  tithe  of  your  affection 
would  make  me  wretched."  I  was,  however,  not  called 
upon  to  make  this  sacrifice,  for  soon  they  all  departed 
after  the  Holy  Week,  and  I  lost  my  kind  friends,  and  re- 
solved to  make  no  more  acquaintances,  as  I  perceived  that 
this  sort  of  thing  pained  my  dear  mother,  who  had  become 
jealous  of  even  my  short  absences.  In  the  spring  we  re- 
sumed our  pleasant  gipsey  course  of  life ;  the  Montinis 
called  my  mother  "  the  amiable  vagabond,"  and  declared 
she  was  not  an  Italian  in  that  respect,  though  an  excellent 
one  in  others.  She  answered  that,  having  married  an 
American,  he  had  taught  her  to  walk.  "  Travel,  you 
mean,"  they  laughingly  replied,  "for  you  walk  miles  and 
miles  every  day."  I  do  not  think,  however,  that  the  women 
are  great  pedestrians  here,  and  rather  fancy  my  father  had 
copied  the  English,  who  excel  in  this  respect ;  at  any  rate, 
the  good  effects  of  exercise  were  very  visible.  The  Italian 
women  are  constantly  in  the  open  air,  in  courts  and  gardens, 
but  no  walkers.  But  this  enchanting  life  was  not  to  endure. 
My  father  came  and  asked  us  if  we  had  any  idea  how  long  we 
had  been  in  Rome.  We  answered.  Five  years.  How  short 
this  time  had  seemed  to  us  !  He  then  informed  us  we  were 
to  return  to  Florence,  and  that  I  was  to  be  placed  under  the 
care  of  an  Englishman,  in  order,  as  he  said,  to  learn  some- 
thins  useful  at  last.  "  You  arc  a  dunce,"  he  said;  at  which 
I  cried  my  heart  out,  and  then  he  called  me  a  baby. 

'  And  then  came  the  sad,  sad  leave-taking  of  all  our  idols, 
the  churches  where  we  had  prayed,  the  galleries  we  had 
almost  lived  in,  the  gardens,  the  ruins,  the  A^atican,  and 
lastly.  Saint  Peter's.  My  mother  and  I  sat  on  the  Pincian 
Hill,  and  sorely  wept ;  we  dared  not  shed  tears  at  home 
before  my  father,  who  regarded  our  sensibility  as  sheer 
nonsense,  childish  in  the  extreme.  "Julian,"  he  said,  "  you 
are  an  absurd,  silly,  spoiled  boy,  who  must  be  taken  in  hand 
immediately,  and  taught  something."     "  You  were  always  a 


360  THE    BARCLAYS 

foolish  creature,"  he  exclaimed,  turning  to  my  afflicted 
mother,  "  and,  instead  of  improving,  grow  worse  and 
worse  every  year.  I  have  borne  with  your  nonsense  long 
enough,  and  have  left  the  boy  dangling  at  your  petticoat 
strings  until  he  is  half  ruined,  and  nothing  will  ever  be 
made  of  him  now.  So  you  must  decide  to  part  from  him 
on  our  arrival  at  Florence.  I  shall  be  utterly  ashamed  to 
take  such  an  ignoramus  home  with  me  to  America,  where 
they  will  expect  to  see  something  ver\'  different." 

'  Our  doom  was  sealed,  we  embraced  the  dear  Montinis  re- 
peatedly, and  my  mother  whispered,  "You  never  will  again 
behold  me,  if  my  husband  executes  his  threat,  and  separates 
me  from  my  child.  He  virtually  deserted  me  long,  long 
years  gone,  and  I  adopted  Julian  in  his  stead.  He  now 
occupies  the  place  in  my  breast,  where  his  father  once 
reigned  supreme,  and  I  shall  never  survive  his  departure." 
Sad  words,  and,  alas!  how  prophetic!  "I  have  endured," 
—  she  seemed  actually  choked  by  the  intensity  of  her  sen- 
sations,—  but  she  proceeded,  —  "I  have  survived  torture 
once,  and  shall  never  have  sufficient  strength  to  bear  it  a 
second  time."  And  so  we  mournfully  retraced  our  steps  to 
Florence,  and  found  ourselves  once  more  in  the  same  old 
palace,  which  my  father  had  again  hired,  thinking  to  please 
my  mother;  but  little  recked  she  of  this  place  or  that,  if  I 
shared  it  not. 

'  May  God  be  with  you,  my  best  friend,  prays  your  de- 
voted Julian.' 


OF    BOSTON.  36L 


CHAPTER  XLII. 


'  But  Arno  wins  us  to  the  fair  white  walls, 
"Where  the  Etrurian  Athens  claims  and  keeps 
A  softer  feeling  for  her  fairy  halls.' 


BrBON. 


'We  returned  to  Florence,  as  I  stated  in  my  last  letter, 
my  dearest  benefactor  and  friend,  and  to  the  old  palace,  and 
our  same  old  woman  was  there  to  greet  and  welcome  my 
mother.  In  one  week  from  our  arrival  my  father  com- 
manded my  mother  to  prepare  me  for  my  school.  This 
command  threw  her  into  an  agony  of  grief;  she  even  fell 
on  her  knees  at  his  feet,  and  prayed  and  conjured  him,  with 
many  tears  and  supplications,  not  to  take  me  from  her.  He 
answered  loudly  and  imperatively,  that  the  boy  must  go ;  he 
had  been  idling  away  his  precious  time  years  too  long,  to 
please  her  silly  fancies,  and  had  become  a  perfect  milksop, 
livin<T  upon  poetry  and  romances.  He  would  make  a  man 
of  him  ;  he  desired  to  see  no  girls  in  boy's  attire  —  not  he. 

'  "  Ah  Paul,  my  husband  ! "  she  responded,  "  you  will  kill 
me  by  so  doing.  I  never  shall  survive  this  separation  from 
my  child  ;  my  heart-strings  will  break." 

'  "  A  truce  with  such  nonsense,"  he  cried  ;  "  the  boy  shall 

go." 

'  And  forth  I  went,  and  my  dear  mother  hung  about  my 

neck  in  a  frantic  state,  and  then  fainted.     This  delayed  my 

departure  a  little*;  but  on  her  revival   I  was  torn  from  her, 

and  confided  to   the   charge   of  the   Englishman,  who  was 

waiting  for  me  at  the  door  in  a  carriage. 

'  When  I  entered  the  vehicle,  I  found  three  boys,  about 

31 


362  THE    BARCLAYS 

my  own  age,  all  looking  very  sad  and  melancholy.  I  cried 
bitterly,  and  they,  seeing  that  I  did  so  and  that  our  master, 
Mr.  Hibbert,  took  no  notice  whatever  of  my  sorrow,  they 
began  also  to  weep ;  so  wc  journeyed  twenty  miles  this  way 
and  reached  our  destination.  Those  boys  were  ever  'and 
always  my  best  friends  during  my  stay  in  the  school  ;  we 
had  sorrowed  together ;  and  if  we  had  not,  should  probably 
have  quarrelled  and  fought. 

'  The  establishment  was  large  and  roomy,  with  fine  trees 
and  fine,  gardens,  in  which  we  worked.  ]\Ir.  Hibbert  was  a 
good  man,  and  his  wife  better  —  women  always  are.  We 
were  obliged  to  study  very  hard  ;  but  we  had  plenty  of  time 
allotted  for  air  and  exercise  and  bathing.  We  raised  all  our 
own  vegetables  ourselves  ;  we  cultivated  flowers,  in  which 
Mrs.  Hibbert  greatly  delighted  ;  and  we  had  music  and 
dancing  every  week.  The  only  fault  I  ever  had  to  find, 
was  the  abundance  of  meat  to  be  eaten.  I  was  sent  every 
Sunday  to  church,  about  five  miles  distant,  with  the  other 
Catholics  ;  Mr.  Hibbert,  being  himself  a  Church  of  England 
clergyman,  performed  the  service  at  home  for  the  Protest- 
ants. I  take  great  shame  to  myself  that  I  was  happy,  but  I 
must  tell  the  whole  truth.  No  boy's  love  is  as  strong  and 
powerful  as  his  mother's  ;  and  I  have  never  ceased  to  repent 
that  I  enjoyed  myself  when  she  was  pining  out  her  life  for 
me  at  home. 

'  My  father  gave  her  permission  to  see  me  once  a  month. 
Oh,  what  meetings  were  those  !  —  blessed  indeed,  as  under 
the  trees  we  sat  and  communed  together.  She  told  me  she 
did  not  see  my  father  for  weeks,  and  he  was  colder  and 
more  indiilerent  than  ever,  or  so  he  seemed  to  her,  now  that 
I  was  no  longer  with  her.  She  spoke  of  her  solitariness, 
and  I  said,  But  do  you  no  longer  see  your  friends  and  neigh- 
bors, as  in  by-past  times  r — and  she  woilld  reply,  "  Xo,  I 
no  longer  take  any  pleasure  in  their  society."  Oh  !  the 
thoughtlessness  of  young  days  ;  I  paid  not  the  attention  I 
should  liave  done  to  these  confessions.     But  then  I  often  re- 


OF    BOSTON.  363 

fleet,  in  this  very  room,  made  so  pleasant  by  your  bounty, 
>vhat  could  I  have  done  ?  i\Iy  father  was  obstinately  bent 
upon  separating  us,  and  no  efforts  of  mine  would  have  sway- 
ed him.  Will  you  not,  my  best  friend,  agree  with  me 
when  next  I  see  you  ?  I  feel,  as  I  proceed  in  my 
journal,  that  every  line  brings  me  nearer  to  you.  I  have 
been  wicked,  I  know,  but  now  that  you  declare  I  am  not  so 
bad  as  you  for  years  have  thought  me  to  be,  I  feel  that  I 
may  love  and  respect  you. 

'  One  day  I  waited  at  the  end  of  the  avenue  of  olive-trees 
for  my  mother  the  livelong  day.  She  came  not.  I  was 
very  miserable,  and  knew  not  what  to  think  of  her  absence. 
Monday  I  received  a  short  note  fi"om  her,  informing  me  that 
she  was  injured  slightly  by  a  fall,  and  should  come  to  me 
shortly  ;  but  if  a  week  or  so  elapsed,  and  I  saw  her  not,  I 
must  not  be  alarmed.  So  my  mind  being  satisfied,  I  only 
thought  of  her  as  having  met  with  a  slight  accident. 

'  A  fortnight  elapsed,  and  still  another,  when  I  received  a 
letter  from  Mrs.  ^Montini,  who  wrote  that  she  and  her  hus- 
band had  arrived  in  Florence,  and  repaired  immediately  to 
my  mother's  house,  and  found  her  in  a  very  sad  state 
indeed.  It  appeared,  she  wrote,  that  her  friend  had  declined 
almost  from  the  first  week  of  my  departure,  and  had  not 
rallied  even  for  a  day.  She  had  seemed  dead  to  every 
thing,  no  longer  taking  any  interest  in  her  former  pursuits, 
and  sitting  all  day,  without  moving,  on  the  stone  bench  in 
the  garden.  Her  appetite  had  entirely  left  her,  and  to  this 
succeeded  faintings  ;  in  one  of  these  she  had  fallen  and  in- 
jured her  head.  She  desired  our  old  woman  not  to  mention 
these  things  on  any  account  to  her  husband,  and  accordingly 
she  did  not.  But  the  Montinis  having  heard  these  things, 
went  boldly  to  him,  and  told  him  they  were  convinced  his 
wife  was  pining  herself  to  death  for  the  loss  of  her  child. 
At  this  he  was  indignant,  and  declared  it  was  nothing  but  pre- 
tence, by  which  his  wife  hoped  to  get  their  boy  back  again, 
and  spoil  him  worse  than  ever.     The   Montinis  told  him 


364  THE    BARCLAYS 

plainly  that  he  would  repent  of  his  conduct,  for  that  they  well 
knew  how  she  idolized  her  son,  and  then  they  told  him  the 
words  she  had  whispered  in  their  ears  on  quitting  Rome. 
My  father  said  they  might  take  her  back  to  that  city  of  her 
affections,  if  she  wished  to  go  ;  but  as  to  his  son,  he  had  a 
right  to  do  as  he  pleased  with  his  own  child,  and  would 
never  consent  to  his  leaving  the  school  where  he  had  placed 
him  for  four  years.  The  course  of  studies  he  had  marked 
out  for  him,  he  said,  would  be  broken  up,  and  the  boy  was 
ignorant  enough,  Heaven  knew.  He  had  been  sufficiently 
weak  in  allowing  him  to  remain  so  long  under  the  guidance 
of  his  wife,  and  would  do  it  no  longer.  He  farther  inform- 
ed them  that  he  intended  to  return  home  in  a  few  years,  and 
was  not  willing  to  carry  with  him  an  ignoramus  who  knew 
not  his  right  hand  from  his  left.  So  the  Montinis  departed, 
taking  a  tender  and  melancholy  farewell  of  their  miserable 
friend,  thinking,  as  they  wrote  me,  never  to  look  upon  her 
sweet  face  again,  until  they  should  meet  her,  as  they  hoped 
to  do,  in  heaven. 

'  Immediately  on  the  receipt  of  this  letter,  which  I  hastily 
scanned,  I  ran  to  Florence,  even  without  my  hat.  I  asked 
no  leave  of  my  master,  for  I  knew  he  would  forbid  me  to 
go.  How  I  reached  our  house  I  know  not,  nor  ever  shall. 
I  ran  all  the  Avay,  I  think,  and  reaching  the  door,  knocked 
violently.  The  old  woman  appeared.  I  burst  into  the  hall, 
shrieking.  Mother  !  mother !  For  the  first  time  in  my  life, 
there  was  no  response  in  those  walls.  The  old  woman 
looked  at  me  mysteriously,  and  bursting  into  tears,  said, 
"  lour  mother  is  in  her  grave,  my  poor  child  !  " 

'  I  heard  no  more,  and  knew  no  more  for  weeks  ;  then 
youth  conquered,  and  I  arose  from  my  bed  of  suffering,  and 
my  father,  who  had  been  rather  kinder  to  me  than  ever 
before,  said  I  must  return  to  school  ;  that  change  of  air  and 
scene  would  revive  me  entirely.  So  I  departed  and  resum- 
ed again  my  studies.  The  old  woman  told  me  my  mother 
had  been  found  dead  at  sunset  on  the  stone  bench,  with  her 


OF    BOSTON.  365 

head  leaning  against  her  favorite  tree,  and  a  miniature  of 
myself  in  her  hand.  Thus  she  had  died,  broken-hearted  — 
my  sainted  mother  !  —  for  the  loss  of  her  child.  She  told 
the  old  woman,  at  several  different  periods,  that  she  was 
convinced  her  husband  proposed  abandoning  her,  and  taking 
with  him  her  son,  would  return  to  his  own  land,  never  again 
to  behold  Italy,  and  that  his  placing  me  in  that  school  was 
the  preparatory  step.  So,  she  said,  the  sooner  I  die  the 
better  ;  I  never  can  survive  the  execution  of  this  plan.  Tell 
my  boy  I  worshipped  him  to  the  last,  and  beg  him  so  to  live 
that  he  may  meet  me  above,  in  that  blessed  country  where 
there  are  no  separations. 

'  Two  years  before,  she  had  given  me  her  miniature,  and, 
just  as  I  went  to  school,  she  had  one  painted  by  a  skilful 
artist,  of  myself.  The  two  were  placed,  back  to  back,  in  a 
medallion  set  round  with  large  pearls ;  she  said,  for  the  first 
time  in  our  lives  we  looked  not  in  each  others  faces.  These 
miniatures,  which  have  never  left  my  bosom,  I  pray  you, 
my  best  friend,  to  accept,  as  a  slight  testimonial  of  my 
eternal  gratitude,  when  I  shall  go  to  my  mother.  On  my 
return  to  ]\Ir.  Hibbert,  I  begged  pardon  for  so  unceremoni- 
ously leaving  his  house,  —  which,  in  consequence  of  the  cir- 
cumstances, he  graciously  granted. 

'  I  devoted  myself  most  particularly  to  the  study  of  Rome, 
its  history,  its  legislation,  and  its  antiquities.  I  looked  upon 
it  as  the  city  of  my  sainted  and  lamented  mother's  predilec- 
tion, and  thereby  discovered  how  much  more  I  might  have 
enjoyed  my  visit  had  my  knowledge  been  greater.  Just  in 
the  ratio  of  what  is  taken  into  the  Eternal  City  is  that  which 
is  brought  out ;  its  very  stones  speak,  —  and  oh  !  how  I 
lamented  my  ignorance  !  and  how  had  I  wasted  my  precious 
hours  there  !  But  the  walling  for  lost  time  is  useless,  and  so 
I  resolved  to  work  and  make  up  for  this  misspent  period  of 
my  life.  I  mingled  not  much  with  my  schoolmates.  They 
were,  for  the  most  part,  English  ;  they  liked  all  manner  of 
hardy  sports  and  games,  for  which  my  tastes  disinclined  me. 
.31* 


866  THE    BARCLAYS 

I  thought  their  boxing  barbarous,  and  they  called  my  Tasso 
a  "  spoon."  With  the  Italians  I  fraternized  better ;  we  read 
the  sonnets  of  my  favorite  poet  together,  and  built  air-castles 
together,  in  which  we  placed  Leonores.  And  we  thought, 
should  we  ever  find  in  the  wide  wide  world  such  a  beautiful 
creation  !  I  always  maintained  that  I  had  seen  one,  but  was 
afraid  to  say  the  person  was  my  mother,  lest  they  should 
jeer  me  ;  and  I  could  illy  have  borne  any  unceremonious 
mention  of  her  blessed  name. 

'  My  sainted  mother,  —  she  came  between  me  and  all 
evil  thoughts  and  aspirations  ;  she  was  then  my  shield  and 
my  safeguard.  Alas  !  that  1  should  live  to  confess  my  back- 
slidings,  —  why  did  I  not  hold  fast  to  my  true  faith  in  her, 
a  model  of  purity  and  virtue  ?  I  have  not  been  half  as  much 
punished  as  I  deserved  ;  instead  of  finding  the  kindest  of 
friends,  I  have  richly  merited  poverty,  desertion  and  mis- 
ery. When  I  look  on  the  past,  and  remember  my  own 
transparent  character,  my  abhorrence  of  deceit  and  duplicity, 
and  sacred  love  of  truth,  my  very  heart  bleeds  with  anguish. 
No  penance  is  too  great  for  me  to  suffer  when  I  reflect  upon 
her  teachings,  and  how  I  have  rewarded  them  —  what  base 
ingratitude  to  her  memory.  Why  did  I  ever  permit  the 
beautiful  picture  of  her  excellence  to  disappear  from  my 
sight  ?  —  a  vision  of  purity  placed  between  myself  and 
crime.  Were  it  not  for  the  comforting  assurances  of  my 
priest  and  yourself,  I  should  despair  of  forgiveness.  A  lapse 
from  virtue  in  the  neglected  and  ignorant  is  venial,  but  for 
one  like  myself,  having  received  every  advantage,  it  is 
monstrous.  I  shudder  when  I  think  of  my  wickedness,  and 
earnestly  pray  for  mercy. 

'  I  know  these  digressions  are  all  wrong,  they  will  occupy 
too  much  of  your  precious  time,  my  benefactor  ;  but  you 
yesterday  reiterated  the  request  that  I  should  pour  out  my 
whole  soul  to  you  —  and  even  so  it  is  done.  Pardon  me,  I 
pray,  my  egotism.  You  would  hear  the  story  of  my  life, 
and  very  little  have  I  to  tell  but  of  myself,  my  own  feelings 


OF    BOSTON.  367 

and  thoughts ;  so  lonely  and  solitary  became  my  existence 
when  my  mother  went  home  to  paradise.  That  you  have 
become  my  staff  and  stay  on  earth  is  a  blessing  I  do  not 
merit,  and  I  accept  this  assurance  as  an  especial  instance  of 
God's  kindly  affectionate  providence  in  my  behalf,  and  bow 
myself  down  to  Him  in  deep  and  abiding  gratitude. 

'The  four  years  rapidly  departed,  and  the  term  of  my 
stay  with  Mr.  Hibbert  expiring,  my  father  came  punctually 
and  took  me  away  with  him.  I  left  my  kind  master  sorrow- 
fully ;  he  had  been  always  forbearingly  indulgent  to  me, 
and  we  parted  mutually  grieved  at  the  separation.  Mrs. 
Hibbert,  good  creature  !  wept  over  me  as  if  I  had  been  her 
own  child.  She  knew,  with  a  mother's  keen  sensibility,  all 
the  trials  to  which  youth  is  exposed,  deprived  of  the  influ- 
ence of  woman,  and  she  foreshadowed  my  destiny, — and 
sad  enough  it  was.  We  went  to  Leghorn  almost  imme- 
diately, and  embarked  on  board  a  barque  bound  to  Boston. 
After  a  tedious  voyage,  in  which  I  was  always  sick  —  the 
sea  and  I  decidinff  to  disagree  —  we  landed  at  the  birth- 
place  of  my  father.  The  snow  was  six  feet  deep,  the  wind 
east,  and  the  humidity  of  the  atmosphere  penetrated  into  the 
very  marrow  of  my  Italian  bones.  I  dared  not  venture  out 
of  our  hotel  after  my  first  attempt,  as  on  that  occasion  I 
measured  my  length  on  the  snow  and  ice,  and  the  stunning 
effect  of  the  fall  almost  bewildered  my  poor  brain.  After- 
wards, during  my  stay,  I  contented  myself  with  looking  out 
of  the  Tremont  House  windows  on  the  delicate  and  fragile- 
looking  young  girls  who  seemed  to  be  flying  about  as  if 
it  were  a  midsummer-night  dream,  instead  of  a  Nova  Zem- 
bla. 

'  My  father  seemed  to  know  no  one.  We  had  a  parlor 
and  private  table,  and  very  dull  it  would  have  been  for  me, 
but  for  the  sleighs,  they  made  the  city  so  gay  ;  and  the 
numerous  parties  out  on  pleasure  excursions,  tempted  me  to 
ask  my  father  to  indulge  me  in  the  same  way.  He  forth- 
with gave  his  consent,  and  I  returned  to  my  hotel  with  my 


368  THE    BARCLAYS 

ears  frost-bitten  and  my  feet  so  much  benumbed  with  the 
cold,  that  I  thought  I  should  never  again  recover  the  use  of 
them.  My  father  asked  me  if  I  felt  satisfied  with  my  frosty 
experience,  and  I  replied  affirmatively,  and  in  addition  said 
I  never  again  desired  to  renew  this  misnamed  amusement. 
At  the  expiration  of  a  week  we  departed  for  New  York,  and 
fixed  ourselves  in  a  retired  and  small  hotel,  frequented  by 
foreigners,  just  off  Broadway,  for  the  winter. 

'And  now,  my  dear  friend,  I  will  give  you  a  breathing 
space.  May  good  angels  and  the  saints  in  heaven  guard 
you.  '  Jl^lian.' 

'  P.  S.  I  forgot  to  inform  you  that  the  letter  of  the  Mon- 
tinis  was  confided  to  a  particular  hand,  and  that  caused  the 
unfortunate    delay,  —  alas  !    what   a  s-^.d    and    melancholy 

mischance  for  me  —  otherwise But  I  will  not  trouble 

you  with  my  sorrowings  for  things  beyond  recall.     Yours, 

'  Julian.' 


OF    BOSTON.  369 


CHAPTER   XLIII. 


'  As  o'er  the  moimtain's  snowy  height 
In  bright  Apollo's  beams  arrayed, 
So  flowed  her  golden  tresses  light, 
And  down  her  spotless  vesture  strayed.' 

LoEENzo  nE  Medicis. 

'  We  remained  in  New  York  one  year.  Ah  !  my  dearest 
benefactor!  I  would  that  it  had  been  erased  from  my  hfe, 
for  it  was  the  precursor  of  my  misfortunes.  But  why  do  I 
use  sucli  a  mild  term  ?  —  crimes  should  be  the  word.  In  that 
city  I  first  began  to  abandon  the  external  rites  of  my  church  ; 
matins  were  altogether  too  early  for  my  newly  acquired 
habits  of  idleness ;  then  I  neglected  confession,  passing  my 
time  so  recklessly,  I  cared  not  to  avow  it ;  so  one  bad  thing 
followed  another,  and  my  downfall  was  terrible.  I  dared 
not  look  within  myself,  or  on  my  mother's  miniature  which  I 
ever  carried  next  my  heart ;  it  should  have  been  my  segis 
and  safeguard,  but  it  was  not,  and  I  became,  in  the  end, 
afraid  to  look  at  it.  I  beheld  a  frown  upon  her  lovely  brow. 
Conscience  makes  such  cowards  of  us  all. 

'  One  day,  in  our  hotel  a  man,  who  had  lately  been  quite 
friendly  with  my  father,  applied  to  him  a  sadly  opprobrious 
epithet,  and,  although  he  was  much  older,  and  vastly  strong- 
er than  myself,  I  was  able,  so  violent  was  my  indignation, 
to  knock  him  down.  Judge  of  my  great  astonishment, 
when  my  father  actually  reproached  me  for  so  doing; 
for  he  was  living  in  profound  retirement,  and  wished  not 
his  name,  or  that  of  any  one  who  belonged  to  him,  to 
appear   before   the    public.     I    had   reason,   afterwards,  to 


370  THK    BARCLAYS 

know  that  he  paid  quite   a  large  sum  of  money  to  hush  up 
this  adventure  of  mine. 

'  I  liked  not  New  York  ;  there  was  too  much  noise  and 
too  little  pleasure  for  me.  I  heard  some  music,  and  now 
and  then  went  to  the  theatres  with  the  foreigners  in  our 
hotel.  At  first,  I  had  money  in  plenty  ;  my  father  was 
never  niggardly ;  what  he  had  won  he  spent  freely,  but  in 
a  few  months  his  luck  had  apparently  changed,  and  he  said 
fortune  no  longer  smiled,  and  that  he  would  shortly  leave 
the  city.  He  soon  departed,  taking  me  with  him.  We 
went  to  Philadelphia  —  I  liked  that  place  no  better  ;  for,  if 
New  York  was  too  bustling  and  noisy,  "  the  home  of  broth- 
erly love "  was  altogether  too  quiet  for  my  taste.  But  I 
have  no  right  to  criticise ;  for  I  knew  no  one  in  either  place, 
and,  as  there  is  so  little  amusement  in  this  country,  com- 
pared with  the  enjoyment  we  derive  from  pictures,  statues, 
and  the  fine  arts  generally  abroad,  if  a  stranger  has  no 
circle  into  which  he  can  enter,  he  must  dislike  all  the  cities 
equally. 

'  We  remained  in  Philadelphia  a  few  months,  and  then 
came  to  Boston.  I\Iy  father  took  a  furnished  apartment, 
mean  and  comfortless,  in  an  obscure  part  of  the  city,  and 
was  careful  not  to  appear  too  much  in  public.  Boston 
being  so  much  smaller  than  New  York,  he  was  very 
much  more  careful  of  avoiding  recognition,  though  I  am 
sure  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  even  his  own  mother 
to  have  known  him  under  the  disguise  of  beard,  moustache 
and  imperial,  he  so  resembled  an  Italian  in  every  thing. 
At  any  rate,  he  seemed  very  much  afraid  of  being  known  ; 
he  had  commanded  me,  on  my  arrival  in  America,  to  call 
myself  Julian  Paul,  and  that  was  my  name  ever  after. 

'  Once  settled  here,  he  told  me  he  had  supported  me  in 
idleness  already  too  long,  and  I  must  forthwith  begin  to 
work.  This  I  was  very  ready  to  do,  and,  having  found  a 
scholar  here  and  there,  I  gave  lessons  in  Italian,  singing,  and 
the  guitar.      Amongst  these  pupils  were   the  two  brothers 


OF    BOSTON.  371 

Sanderson ;  they  were  the  only  persons  who  were  really 
kind  to  me  ;  they  treated  me  like  a  gentleman,  and  appre- 
ciated my  acquisitions  in  other  things  heside  my  mere 
lessons  ;  for  this  I  was  abundantly  grateful.  I  fell  into  a 
habit  of  passing  many  hours  with  them  at  each  lesson,  and, 
in  that  way,  they  came  to  speak  my  own  delicious  tongue 
very  well  ;  for  their  music,  you  well  know  how  it  prospered. 
In  our  conversations,  your  family  had  always  the  largest 
part ;  Charley  never  tired  of  chanting  its  praises,  and 
Gerald  indulged  his  brother  in  listening  sometimes  atten- 
tively, in  which  I  joined  until  it  became  the  whole  dream 
of  my  life  to  behold  the  beautiful  and  enchanting  sisters. 

'  And  then  I  reached  the  hateful  epoch  in  my  existence. 
Whatever  wrong  things  I  had  done  before,  they  all  vanish 
into  thin  air  in  comparison  with  my  crime  towards  you  and 
yours.  When  I  reflect  upon  the  goodness  you  have  mani- 
fested to  such  an  offender  as  myself,  I  am  overwhelmed 
with  gratitude,  and  at  the  same  time  astonished  at  your 
charitv  and  benevolence  toward  me.  When  I  remember 
that  you,  my  dearest  friend,  have  forgiven  me,  sinner  that 
I  am,  I  regard  you  as  a  superior  being  ;  a  man,  of  whom 
we  may  say,  "  Of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven."  But 
I  well  know  you  like  not  to  hear  your  own  praises,  so  I 
will  proceed  with  my  sad  tale. 

'  The  week  preceding  the  ball  I  heard  of  nothing  else  ; 
the  sisters  were  actually  going,  and  Charley  Sanderson  was 
beside  himself  with  joy.  He  would  dance  with  them  alter- 
nately all  the  evening,  and  then  it  would  be  with  Miss 
Georgy  mostly,  and  so  he  ran  on.  Gerald  inquiring  if 
he  could  discern  them  apart,  he  was  indignant,  but  this 
lasted  not  long ;  he  was  so  thoroughly  good-natured,  and 
he  never  ceased  urging  his  brother  to  accompany  him  like- 
wise. Gerald  refused,  but  Charley  persevering  in  his  en- 
treaties, his  brother  at  last,  always  jesting,  declared  he 
would  accompany  him  to  the  ball,  if  Miss  Barclay  could  be 
persuaded  to  bestow  upon   him  the   honor  of  her  hand  for 


372  THE    BARCLAYS 

the  first  quadrille.  Thus  encouraged  in  his  desires,  Char- 
ley, the  night  of  the  long  anticipated  party,  sallied  forth  in 
full  dress,  with  a  houquet  of  violets  in  his  hand  ;  Gerald  and 
I  following  him. 

'  Where  was  then  my  good  genius  ?  where  was  then  the 
memory  of  my  sainted  mother,  that  it  interposed  not  be- 
tween me  and  my  desolation  and  ruin  ?  But  I  deserved  no 
such  boon  from  Providence.  Although  I  ever  bore  my 
mother's  presentment  next  my  heart,  its  potent  charm  was 
broken,  destroyed ;  it  was  no  longer  my  talisman  against 
evil  thoughts  and  evil  doings.  I  followed  my  young  friend, 
and  was  lost. 

'  Charley  Sanderson  left  his  brother  standing  at  Mrs.  Ash- 
ley's door;  I  crept  lightly  after  him  and  heard  the  request 
he  made,  and  answered,  you  well  know  how.  He  flew 
down  stairs  to  inform  Gerald  of  the  result.  I  cared  little 
for  this,  as  I  knew  Gerald  had  no  intention  of  going  to  the 
ball,  as,  from  not  frequenting  society,  he  had  not  even  a 
proper  dress  for  the  occasion.  I  will  not  attempt  to  describe 
my  sensations  when  the  dazzling  vision  of  your  daughter's 
supernatural  beauty  broke  upon  my  bewildered  and  enrap- 
tured senses,  and,  for  some  moments,  1  stood  wrapt  in  ob- 
livion of  all  in  the  world  beside. 

'  Suddenly  the  thought  crossed  my  mind  to  personate 
Gerald  Sanderson  for  the  moment,  —  only  for  the  moment, 
—  1  had  no  plan,  no  project,  nothing  beyond  an  insatiable 
and  overpowering  desire  to  speak  to  the  celestial  creature 
who  stood  before  me,  radiant  in  loveliness  and  beauty.  I 
must  speak  or  die  on  the  spot ;  she  must  look  upon  me 
once,  and  that  would  suffice  for  a  life.  I  did  speak,  and 
from  that  hour  was  a  lost  man.  I  closed  not  my  eyes  all 
that  night ;  I  railed  madly  against  my  adverse  fortune  that 
forbade  me  to  enter  the  lists  with  her  admirers ;  I  envied 
the  dear  Charley,  and  despised  Gerald  for  his  indiirerence, 
and  walked  my  room  in  a  species  of  hallucination.  Here 
was  the  true  Leonore  !     I  had  sought  her  for  aye,  and  now 


OF    BOSTON.  373 

she  was  found.  Ah  !  thought  I,  could  my  companions,  at 
Mr.  Hibbert's,  see  this  divine  creature,  would  they  not  ex- 
claim with  me  she  is  found !  our  visions  are  embodied ! 
Then  1  began  to  ask  myself  why  I  might  not  win  such  a 
treasure,  as  well  as  Charley  Sanderson.  To  be  sure,  there 
was  no  money,  or  family  connections  that  I  knew,  but  this 
was  a  country  where  every  man  could  hope  for  distinction. 
Might  I  but  win  the  guerdon  of  her  smiles,  and  then  every 
thing  else  would  be  easily  won,  —  fame,  fortune  and  pros- 
perity must  follow  the  first  great  boon  ;  all  else  would  be  as 
naught.  This  was,  indeed,  love  at  first  sight ;  my  very 
heart  and  soul  was  filled  with  it ;  it  pervaded  instanta- 
neously my  whole  system,  and  from  that  eventful  night, 
there  was  nothing  in  the  universe  for  me,  but  Georgiana 
Barclay. 

'  I  loathed  my  occupations,  and  above  all  the  lessons  at 
the  Sandersons'.  These  I  immediately  renounced,  being  un- 
able to  listen  to  Charley's  rhapsodies.  It  appeared  to  me  he 
had  no  right  or  title  to  mention  her  peerless  name,  and  my 
feelinjTs  were  so  ungovernable  that  I  could  no  longer  com- 
mand  myself.  The  brothers  both  kindly  requested  me  to 
remain  and  teach  them,  as  they  appeared  to  enjoy  great 
pleasure  in  my  society,  apart  from  the  advantage  they  had 
gained.  All  this  was  gracious  and  polite,  but  I  was  obsti- 
nately bent  upon  leaving  them,  and  I  said  I  had  not  the  time, 
having  other  things  to  do  more  desirable.  So  you,  my  best 
friend,  must  perceive  how  I  began  to  sink  deeper  and  deeper 
in  my  pit  of  perdition,  when  I,  who  had  been  taught  by  my 
mother  to  regard  the  truth  as  an  eternally  sacred  obliga- 
tion, thus  violated  it. 

'  I  sought  the  object  of  my  passion  every  where  ;  I  fol- 
lowed her  to  the  school ;  I  watched  her  returning ;  I  scat- 
tered flowers  in  her  path,  and  wrote  sonnets  to  her  eyes, 
her  hair,  her  hands,  her  feet.  There  was  no  folly  con- 
ceivable or  inconceivable,  which  I  failed  not  to  commit.  I 
serenaded  her  at  night,  and,  in  fact,  lived  but  in  her  pres- 
32 


374  THE    BARCLAYS 

ence  during  the  day.  These  efforts-,  in  process  of  time, 
were  successful.  She  walked  with  me  often  ;  and,  one  day, 
1  rriet  my  father.  In  the  evening,  he  said  to  me,  "  Julian, 
who  was  that  young  girl  with  whom  I  saw  you  walking, 
this  morning  .?  "  I  liked  not  to  answer,  but  he  commanded 
me  to  do  so.  And  when  I  told  him,  he  said,  "  You  love 
her,  then  ?  — that  fair-haired  creature  !  " 

'  "  As  my  own  soul  and  better  !  I  would  peril  my  existence 
to  save  a  hair  of  her  beautiful  head." 

'  "  Do  you  imagine  she  would  marry  you  ?  " 

*  "  I  know  not ;  never  having  dared  to  ask  her  such  a  mo- 
mentous question." 

'  "  Do  so,  then,  immediately." 

'  I  fell  at  his  feet  in  a  paroxysm  of  joy  and  gratitude,  and 
thanked  him  a  thousand  times. 

'  "  Do  so,"  he  repeated,  "  and,  she  consenting,  I  will  take 
upon  myself  to  arrange  every  thing  without  a  possibility  of 
failure.  Her  haughty,  proud  mother  shall  repent  in  dust 
and  ashes  certain  passages  in  her  life  !  " 

'  I  knew  not,  I  asked  not  wherefore  my  father  should  so 
willingly  consent  to  my  union , with  Miss  Barclay,  but  per- 
ceived that  he  did  ;  and  that  sufficed  nearly  to  craze  my 
poor  brain  with  excess  of  happiness. 

'  My  father,  however  uncommunicative  at  other  times,  was 
not  so  then  ;  he  told  me,  that  the  preceding  evening  he  had 
received  a  letter  from  Florence,  bringing  the  glad  intelli- 
gence of  a  fortune  for  me.  A  distant  relative  of  my  sainted 
mother  had  died,  and  bequeathed  lands  and  money  to  her 
child,  and  it  became  absolutely  necessary  that  we  should  de- 
part immediately,  as  other  heirs  proposed  disputing  my  rights. 
He  furthermore  added,  that  if  I  did  not  secure  the  object  of 
my  adoration  before  my  departure,  I  should  infallibly  lose 
her.  He  said  this  could  be  effected  by  a  civil  marriage, 
which,  when  I  returned  rich  and  prosperous,  would  be 
solemnized  by  tlie  rites  of  my  own  church,  and  the  young 
lady's   also.     My   father  then   informed    me,   that    he    had 


OF    BOSTON.  375 

known  my  course  lately,  and  had  thoroughly  approved  of  it 
from  the  first;  that  I  must  follow  his  injunctions  in  word 
and  deed ;  and  that  my  future  prosperity,  and  even  the 
power  of  supporting  in  suitable  style  the  idol  of  my  affec- 
tions, depended  upon  my  implicit  obedience.  "  For,"  said 
he,  "  her  father  and  mother  will  be  so  furiously  angry  when 
they  learn  her  marriage,  that  they  will  infallibly  disinherit 
her."  And  my  idol,  on  learning  that  I  must  depart  instantly, 
with  many  tears  and  sighs  consented  to  become  mine. 
Need  I  relate  the  prayers,  supplications  and  entreaties,  that 
this  consent  cost  me,  and  the  many  letters  I  wrote,  and  the 
many  times  I  saw  her  before  my  happiness  was  secured  ! 

'  She  met  me  on  the  appointed  day,  at  last ;  for  often- 
times before,  the  day  had  been  fixed,  and  she  had  not 
appeared,  so  many  were  the  conflicts  she  endured  before 
she  could  persuade  herself  to  this  act.  We  appeared  before 
a  magistrate,  and  were  married.  As  Heaven  is  my  witness, 
I  —  who  am  so  near  the  awful  moment  of  my  appearance 
before  the  judgment-seat  of  my  Creator  —  most  solemnly 
swear,  that  so  profound  was  my  respect  and  love  for  the 
fair  creature  who  had  confided  her  destiny  to  me,  I  dared 
not  even  kiss  her  hand.  We  parted  that  morning,  on  leav- 
ing the  house  where  the  marriage  was  performed,  at  the 
door,  and  I  have  never  seen  this  object  of  my  idolatry  since, 
and,  God  knows,  never  expect  to  do  so  again.  I  will  not 
repine  ;  it  is  but  an  expiation  of  my  olTence.  Bitterly  have 
I  been  punished,  and  richly  do  I  deserve  my  fate. 

'  We  sailed  the  very  next  day.  Our  passage  was  a  good 
one,  and  we  reached  Leghorn,  and  repaired  immediately  to 
Florence.  There  we  were  received  by  our  lawyers,  who 
were  very  civil,  and  had  no  doubt  of  our  success.  My  first 
visit  was  to  my  mother's  grave,  where,  casting  myself  be- 
side her,  I  bewailed  my  wickedness  and  neglect  of  her 
admonitions,  and  prayed  for  her  forgiveness  and  tlie  wel- 
fare of  the  dear  creature,  holding  the  second  place  in  my 
affections.     For,  madly  as  I  adored  your  child,  there  was 


376  .        THE    BARCLAYS 

never  a  moment  that  this  mother  of  mine  reigned  not  in  my 
heart.  It  seemed  even  that  I  loved  better  and  better  her 
memory ;  and  so  was  it  rightly  ordered.  My  last  idol  has 
forsaken  me,  justly  enough  I  concede ;  but,  thank  God  for 
his  great  and  enduring  mercies,  my  blessed  mother  remains 
to  me  still ! 

'  Alas,  the  law's  delay  !  We  remained  a  year  awaiting 
the  result  of  my  suit,  and  at  its  expiration,  were  no  farther 
advanced  than  when  we  arrived.  Then  I  caught  a  violent 
cold,  and  was  confined  to  my  chamber  six  months  —  not 
being  permitted  by  the  medical  man  to  cross  the  threshold 
of  my  door  —  and  even  after  I  was  what  they  called  conva- 
lescent, I  was  ordered  to  the  baths  of  Lucca.  They  said 
my  lungs  were  much  affected,  and  that  the  American  cli- 
mate had  weakened  them.  This  was  a  fact,  for,  during  my 
residence  here,  I  was  never  wholly  free  from  catarrhal 
affections,  and,  at  times,  suffered  from  great  pain  in  my 
chest.  Thus  was  a  second  year  consumed,  and  the  third 
entered  upon,  and  still  our  lawsuit  dragged  its  slow  length 
along.  All  this  time  I  wrote  innumerable  letters  to  your 
daughter,  never  desisting,  though  I  never  received  a  single 
response.  This  affliction  greatly  added  to  my  sufferings,  and 
hindered  my  restoration  to  health.  I  was  rendered  nervous 
and  irritable,  and  my  mind,  ever  dwelling  upon  her  desertion 
of  me,  made  me  very  ill,  and  I  made  no  advances  in  strength. 
The  dear  Montinis,  learning  my  grave  illness,  came  to  me 
and  remained  a  month  in  Florence.  Blessed  communion 
had  we  on  the  happy  days  passed  together  in  my  mother's 
bellissima  Roma.  When  they  departed  they  would  fain 
have  taken  me  with  them,  but  it  was  absolutely  necessary  I 
should  remain  in  Florence.  It  was  a  sad  parting  that !  I 
had  a  gloomy  presentiment  I  should  never  see  them  more  ; 
I  never  shall.  I  have  just  now  forwarded  to  them  my  fare- 
well letter  on  earth.  Tried  friends  were  they  to  me  and 
mine,  and  I  would  not  leave  this  troublous  world  without 
giving  them  some  testimony  of  my  affection. 


OF    BOSTON.  377 

'  Many  a  time  and  oft  I  determined  to  go  to  America  in  that 
third  year ;  but  my  father  said  he  had  no  means  to  send  me 
properly  —  I  being  an  invahd  —  and  that,  if  your  daughter 
should  abandon  me  as  I  deserved,  no  good  result  would 
accrue  from  my  presence  in  a  beggared  state.  And  besides, 
he  urged,  "  You  are  not  in  a  condition  to  go  ;  you  require 
all  manner  of  care  personally,  and  if  you  depart  before  the 
lawsuit  is  settled,  I  will  not  undertake  to  answer  for  the 
consequences.  Your  sole  chance  for  claiming  the  young 
lady  lies  in  the  full  possession  of  your  inheritance." 

'  My  father  had  a  servant,  who  always  took  my  letters  to 
the  post.  I  am  now  convinced  that  he  carried  them  to  his 
master,  who  burned  them.  Over  this  we  will  drop  a  veil. 
I  wish  not  to  dwell  on  my  unfortunate  parent's  delinquencies. 
If  your  daughter's  heart  was  changed  to  me,  all  the  out- 
pourings of  my  passionate  and  constant  affection  would 
have  been  as  naught.  At  last,  our  lawsuit  was  decided  in 
my  favor,  and  1  was  a  rich  man.  But  poor,  abjectly  poor 
in  spirit  and  affection,  what  was  gold  to  me  ?  Less  than 
dross.  I  had  cast  my  fortunes  on  the  die  of  her  love  — 
that  gone,  all  else  was  worthless.  Why,  alas  !  should  I  now 
fear  the  passage  through  the  dark  valley  of  death,  who 
have  made  it  o'er  and  o'er  again  the  last  three  miserable 
years  of  a  wretched  existence.  Nevertheless,  I  resolved  to 
go  to  America,  and  1  left  Florence  ;  but,  as  I  imagined  my 
father  might  throw  obstacles  in  my  way,  if  he  became 
aware  of  my  intentions,  I  departed  secretly,  taking  with  me 
very  little  money,  and  neglecting  to  supply  myself  with 
letters  of  credit  in  my  haste  and  trepidation.  On  getting  to 
sea,  my  health  recruited,  and  with  this  change  came  hope 
and  trust,  and  I  was  better  than  I  had  been  for  a  long  time. 
My  mind  was  in  such  a  chaotic  state  when  I  left  Italy,  that 
I  made  no  more  provision  for  my  advent  here  than  a  child 
would  have  done  ;  I  thought  of  nothing  but  escaping.  This 
may  appear  absurd  in  America,  but  the  power  of  a  parent 
over   a   child    in   Italy   is  very    much   greater   than    here. 


378  THE    BARCLAYS 

From  certain  indications  I  had  concluded  that  all  means 
would  be  used  to  force  me  to  remain.  God  knows  if  I  were 
correct  in  my  opinion.  I  can  hardly  bear  to  write,  much 
less  to  think  of  this.  I  only  know  my  father  was  powerful, 
and  I  was  weak,  and  wish  to  explain  no  more. 

'  And  now,  my  benefactor,  my  best  friend,  receive  my  most 
heartfelt  and  deeply-rooted  expression  of  ardent  thanks  for 
all  your  goodness  to  me.  I  possess  not  words  wherein  to 
pour  forth  my  gratitude.  May  the  blessing  of  God  and  all 
the  saints  rest  upon  your  head.  Proffer  to  all  the  friends 
who  have  devoted  themselves  to  me  my  reiterated  thanks, 
and  to  one  and  all  my  sincere  love. 

'  With  profound  respect,  your  devoted  Julian.' 


OF    BOSTON.  379 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 


'  I  lov'd  thee  once,  I'll  love  no  more. 
Thine  be  the  grief  as  is  the  blame  ; 
Thou  art  not  what  thou  wast  before. 
What  reason  I  should  be  the  same. ' 


Anonymous. 


If  any  thing  could  have  augmented  Mr.  Barclay's  love  for 
the  object  of  his  care  and  devotion,  these  letters  would  have 
effected  it ;  but  he  felt  this  was  impossible.  The  childlike 
simplicity,  the  affectionate  nature,  the  delicacy  and  nobleness 
of  character  developed  in  them  was  truly  captivating.  The 
deep  and  heartfelt  penitence  manifested  by  Julian  Seaton  for 
his  derelictions  from  the  paths  of  virtue,  commanded  his 
sympathy  and  respect,  and  he  wept  over  the  touching  and 
affecting  recital  of  his  short  life  with  deep  and  abiding  sor- 
row. Mr.  Barclay  appreciated  to  its  fullest  extent  the  deli- 
cate manner  m  which  the  young  man  had  treated  the  relation 
in  which  he  stood  to  himself,  never  adverting  to  his  claim  as 
kinsman  to  Mrs.  Barclay,  or  son-in-law  to  himself;  never 
touching  upon  Georgiana,  except  when  unavoidable,  and 
then  so  respectfully  and  deferentially. 

After  reading  the  missives  twice,  he  took  them  to  his 
brother,  and  he  having  perused  them,  declared  that  both 
Mrs.  Barclay  and  her  daughter  would  be  stony-hearted 
wretches,  if,  after  reading  them,  they  should  refuse  to  visit 
Julian  Seaton.  Mr.  Richard  also  thought  that  Mr.  Barclay 
had  better  advise  his  wife  of  the  relationship  existing  be- 
tween herself  and  her  cousin.  '  When  she  sees,'  said  he, 
'  that  Julian  has  been  more  sinned  against  than  sinning,  she 
will  relent ;  I  trust  to  her  own  noble  spirit  to  recognise  its 


380  THE    BARCLAYS 

fellow  in  that  of  her  relative.'  Accordingly,  Mr.  Barclay- 
entreated  his  wife  to  read  Julian's  confessions,  which  she 
consented  to  do,  the  more  readily  when  she  discovered  who 
he  was.  Thus  it  appeared  that  Mr.  Barclay  had  been  wrong 
in  thinking  she  would  allow  her  opinions  respecting  the  father 
to  influence  her  feelings  towards  the  son,  and  wished  he  had 
advised  her  of  this  fact  before. 

Mrs.  Barclay  was  inexpressibly  alTected,  and  felt  that  not 
a  moment  was  to  be  lost ;  so  she  laid  down  the  packet  and 
went  immediately  to  her  cousin.  Julian  was  overjoyed  to 
receive  her;  their  interview  proved  most  satisfactory  and  in- 
teresting, and  Mrs.  Barclay  from  that  day  took  her  place  at 
his  bedside  with  his  other  friends,  for  his  strength  began  to 
fail  so  rapidly  that  he  could  no  longer  sit  up. 

'  Ah  ! '  said  ]\Ir.  Richard  one  day  to  his  sister,  '  I  wish  I 
had  never  known  the  dying  creature;  he  has  wound  himself 
so  completely  around  my  heart  that  I  cannot  bear  to  think 
of  our  parting,'  and  as  he  pronounced  these  words,  the  big 
tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks.  This  was  an  unparalleled 
degree  of  emotion  for  a  man  who  despised  all  demonstration. 
'Ah!'  he  resumed,  when  he  had  conquered  this  ebullition 
of  sensibility,  of  which  he  was  greatly  ashamed,  '  this  is  the 
miscreant!  caitiff!  that  I  have  so  many  a  time  and  oft  exe- 
crated. If  I  but  learn  a  lesson  of  forbearance  and  charity 
from  him,  I  shall  have  become  myself  a  better  man. 
The  poor  darling  fellow  !  how  I  pity  him  !'  And  most  true 
was  it  that  the  humility  and  strong  religious  faith  of  the  suf-* 
fering  Julian  Seaton  had  produced  a  remarkable  effect  upon 
Mr.  Richard  Barclay,  and  that  the  gentleness  and  patience 
of  the  dying  youth  had  done  more  than  any  thing  else  in  the 
world,  to  mollify  the  asperities  of  a  man  who  prided  himself 
upon  their  possession.  The  daily  intercourse  with  such  a 
being  had  shed  its  balmy  influence  over  his  spirit,  and 
had  a  beneficial  effect  upon  him.  A  nature  must  be  cal- 
lous indeed  that  can  remain  in  communion  with  such  vir- 
tues as  adorned  the  character  of  the  invalid,  to  whom  he  was 


OF    BOSTON.  381 

devoting  hours  every  day  of  his  life,  and  not  receive  a  real 
and  lasting  advantage. 

Mrs.  Barclay  had  presented  the  packet  of  letters  to  her 
daughter  with  a  request  that  she  would  read  it.  She  con- 
sented, and  her  mother  did  not  again  see  her  for  a  day  ; 
Georgiana  requesting  to  be  left  alone,  no  one  intruded  upon 
her  privacy.  The  next  morning  Georgiana  begged  to  see 
her  mother  in  her  own  room.  I\Irs.  Barclay  found  her  calm 
and  composed,  but  looking  as  if  she  had  greatly  suffered. 
Georgy  returned  the  letters,  and  addressing  her  said,  '  I  have 
been,  my  dear  mother,  endeavoring  all  night  to  gain  power 
from  on  high  to  pass  through  the  ordeal  which  awaits  me  in 
this  interview.  God  in  his  mercy  grant  me  strength  to  be 
able  to  impart  to  you  my  final  resolution.  You  have  edu- 
cated me,  my  blessed  mother,  in  a  sacred  regard  for  truth. 
How  I  have  rewarded  all  your  assiduous  teachings  and  ten- 
der care,  you  alas !  too  well  know.  In  one  instance  I  for- 
feited my  right  to  your  confidence,  and  that  first  lapse  from 
virtue  has  colored  my  whoje  destiny,  destroyed  the  happiness 
of  my  beloved  family,  and  marred  my  father's  irreproachably 
honorable  name.  That  I  have  been  bitterly,  severely,  and 
justly  punished,  is  most  true  ;  for,  from  my  first  deviation 
from  rectitude,  I  have  never  enjoyed  one  moment  of  serenity 
or  peace  ;  my  life  has  been  a  dreary  blank.  Even  the  an- 
gelic goodness  which  I  have  felt  in  my  inmost  soul,  in  the 
forbearance  exhibited  by  my  adored  father  and  yourself 
towards  me,  has  increased  my  misery.  I  deserved  it  not, 
ungrateful  child  that  I  am  ! ' 

Mrs.  Barclay  was  amazed  at  this  outbreak  in  her  usually 
so  calm  and  collected  daughter.  She  had  flattered  herself 
that  time,  with  healing  on  its  wings,  had  performed  its 
wonted  good  work  ;  but  now,  alas !  she  discovered  that  the 
heart  was  bleeding  still. 

'My  child,  my  child!'  interposed  Mrs.  Barclay,  'apply 
not,  I  conjure  you,  such  terrible  epithets  to  yourself,  for 
my  sake,  for  your  father's, — cease,  I  pray  you.' 


382  THE    BARCLAYS 

'Mother,'  resumed  Georgiana,  'I  will  try  to  be  composed, 
and  endeavor  to  still  the  beatings  of  my  overcharged  heart 
while  I  reveal  to  you  my  fixed  resolution.  I  will  not  see 
Julian  Seaton  ;  I  have  long,  long  ceased  to  love  him  ; 
another  has  supplanted  him  in  my  affections.  Neither  am  I 
sure  that  I  can  even  dignify  with  the  name  of  love  the  un- 
governable fancy  I  experienced  in  my  childish  days,  for  my 
boy-lover;  at  any  rate  it  is  now,  and^has  been  for  years, 
completely  extinguished  by  his  treacheiy.  My  presence  in 
Julian  Seaton's  sick  room  will  be  of  no  avail  ;  I  can  carry 
with  me  no  consolation.  He  full  well  knows  I  have  forgiven 
him,  and  with  that  assurance  must  rest  contented.  I  had 
thought  that  the  depths  of  my  soul  could  never  be  again 
stirred,  the  calmness  of  my  mind  disturbed,  and  had  schooled 
myself  to  bear  the  cross  I  had  made  for  myself;  but  such, 
it  appears,  is  not  to  be  my  destiny.  The  fiood-gates  of  my 
pent-up  feelings  are  once  more  destroyed,  and  the  last  night 
has  been  to  me  an  excess  of  agony.  I  am  disabused  of  the 
consolatory  illusion  that  a  certaiu  degree  of  serenity  had 
fallen  upon  me  ;  and  awake  to  find  that  intense  sutTering  is 
henceforth  to  be  my  lot.  I  repeat,  I  cannot  behold  Julian 
Seaton  ;  no  good  can  possibly  accrue  to  him  or  to  me  from 
the  interview.  I  feel  that  I  could  never  endure  it.  I  may  be 
mistaken,  but  I  believe  all  the  love  I  bore  Julian  is  gone  for- 
ever. ^Vhen  I  make  to  you  the  confession,  my  mother,  that 
I  have  placed  my  atfections  elsewh.ere,  it  is  with  no  intention 
of  ever  doing  more  than  making  this  revelation  of  the  state 
of  my  feelings,  which  has,  in  truth,  been  now  torn  rudely 
from  me  by  force  of  circumstances.  I  shall  never  marry  ;  I 
have  vowed  a  vow  to  devote  the  rest  of  my  days  to  you  and 
my  father ;  it  is  the  least  thing  I  can  do  in  return  for  your 
kindness  to  me.  When  I  reflect  that  no  reproach  has  ever 
passed  your  lips  or  his  to  your  erring  child  :  that  no  sign 
has  ever  been  made  by  which  1  have  had  occasion  even  to 
infer  that  my  sad  misconduct  was  remembered,  I  am  over- 
whelmed with  gratitude  for  the  kindness  I  have  received  at 


OF    BOSTON.  383 

your  hands.  God  knows  how  I  have  prayed  for  strength  to 
bear  the  semblance  of  cheerfulness  in  your  presence,  and  I 
am  overjoyed  to  find  that  I  have  been  successful. 

'  Now,  my  mother,  I  will  confide  to  you  the  possessor  of 
my  true  affections.  You  will  probably  not  be  surprised  when 
I  mention  Gerald  Sanderson.  1  know  that  he  loves  me.  Of 
his  ignorance  of  my  interest  in  him  I  am  just  as  perfectly 
convinced,  and  in  that  state  he  will  ever  remain.  I  shall 
never  marry  him.  No  woman,  I  think,  could  have  remained 
insensible  to  such  chivalrous  devotion,  and  such  affection  so 
respectfully  demonstrated.  I  know  that  he  has  been 
defending  —  I  wish  I  could  say  —  my  fair  fame  for  years. 
I  know  he  adores  me,  but  I  have  other  duties  more 
holy,  more  important,  and  I  lay  my  affection  for  him,  a 
holocaust  on  my  parental  altar.  In  no  way  can  I  better 
show  my  sincere  and  deep-felt  penitence.' 

Mrs.  Barclay  tenderly  embraced  her  child.  She  entered 
into  no  argument  then  in  the  overwrought  state  of  her 
daughter's  feelings  touching  Gerald,  but  trusted  to  time. 
She  knew  that  Julian's  life-sands  were  fast  ebbing  away, 
and  that  Georgy  would  be  emancipated,  for  in  that  light  she 
was  constrained  to  believe  that  her  daughter  would  regard 
his  departure.  She  had  heard  her  solemnly  declare  that  she 
would  never  recognise  'the  deceiver;'  would  never  live 
with  him  ;  that  she  forgave  him  ;  and  more  could  not  be 
demanded  of  her,  and  the  mother  knew  that  her  child's  de- 
cision was  unalterable.  Mrs.  Barclay,  when  she  looked 
upon  the  radiant  creature  before  her,  was  amazed  as  the 
sternness  of  her  nature  developed  itself,  and  the  fixedness 
of  her  purpose  was  brought  to  light  by  adverse  circum- 
stances. 

On  repeating  this  conversation  to  her  husband,  he  shared 
her  astonishment,  that  one  a^parenlly  so  gentle  should  be 
so  wondrous  firm.  '  Ah  ! '  said  he,  '  I  tremble  for  poor 
Gerald  Sanderson : '  in  v/hieh  feeling  Mrs.  Barclay  thof.. 
oughly  sympathized. 


384  THE    BARCLAYS 

On  Georgiana's  decision  being  made  known  to  Julian 
Seaton  he  submitted,  and,  declaring  it  to  be  but  another 
penance  inflicted  upon  him  for  his  sins,  never  again  resumed 
the  subject.  Mr.  Richard  was  terribly  incensed,  and  de- 
claimed he  would  give  his  niece  '  a  bit  of  his  mind,'  but  was 
dissuaded  from  his  purpose  by  the  entreaties  of  his  amiable 
wife,  who  was  always  a  peace-maker. 

A  few  days  closed  the  earthly  career  of  Julian  Seaton. 
To  the  last,  he  was  overflowing  with  love  and  gratitude  to 
his  friends.  After  a  violent  fit  of  coughing,  they  raised  him 
in  his  bed.  He  had  just  sufficient  strength  left  to  place 
his  arm  around  Mr.  Barclay's  neck,  and  on  his  fostering 
bosom,  breathing  the  names  of  Georgiana  and  his  mother, 
he  expired.  The  good  Catholic  priest  had  been  with  him 
the  whole  day,  and  just  as  the  shades  of  evening  gath- 
ered round,  the  youthful  spirit  departed,  having  been  cheered 
to  the  last  moment  by  religion  and  friendship.  The  funeral 
ceremonies  were  performed  in  the  Catholic  church,  all  Mr. 
Barclay's  fomily  attending,  and  all  the  friends  who  had 
solaced  and  comforted  the  sufferer  during  his  illness. 

In  a  short  time  Gerald  Sanderson  waited  upon  Mr.  Barclay 
with  Julian  Seaton's  will.  It  appeared  that  it  had  been  exe- 
cuted a  month  before  his  decease,  and  that  he  had  devised 
two  thousand  dollars  a-piecc  to  his  Church,  Mr.  Richard  Bar- 
clay, Gerald  Sanderson  and  his  brother,  Robert  Redmond,  the 
Montinis  and  Captain  Williams  ;  the  residue  of  his  fortune 
being  equally  divided  betsveen  his  father  and  Mr.  John  Bar- 
clay. In  a  codicil  appended  to  this  document,  he  requested 
that  his  body  might  be  sent  to  Florence  and  laid  by  the  side 
of  his  mother's.  i\fr.  Barclay,  his  brother,  and  Gerald  San- 
derson were  appointed  executors. 

Mr.  Barclay's  first  wisii  was  to  resign  his  portion  alto- 
gether, but  the  delicacy  of  the  arrangement  disclosed  itself. 
Julian  Imd  not  even  mentioned  his  daughter's  name,  had 
never  claimed  her  as  his  wife,  and  in  this,  his  dying  testa- 
ment, had  preserved  the  same  silence  ;  still  he  had,  in  all 


OF   BOSTON.  385 

human  probability,  wished  her  to  inherit  his  patrimony,  and 
being  assured  she  would  never  accept  it  from  himself,  had 
adopted  this  plan  of  securing  it  to  her-  Mr.  Barclay  be- 
coming convinced  of  this  fact  from  learning  certain  con- 
versations that  Julian  had  held  with  Gerald  and  Robert, 
determined  to  receive  the  property  and  settle  it  upon  Geor- 
giana. 

When  Julian's  testamentary  dispositions  were  made  known 
to  Mr,  Richard  Barclay,  life  declared  his  intention  of  pro- 
ceeding to  Italy  with  the  remains  of  Julian  Seaton,  and 
placing  them  by  the  side  a  mother  whom  he  so  idolized. 
'  For,  besides,'  said  he,  '  loving  the  poor  fellow  as  if  he 
were  my  own  son,  it  is  worth  a  man's  while  to  make  a 
pilgrimage  to  the  tomb  of  a  woman  who  had  inspired  such 
love  and  devotion  in  her  child's  bosom  ;  she  must  have  been 
a  rare  creature  indeed  ! ' 

Mr.  Barclay  was  much  pleased  with  this  plan,  and  imme- 
diately sought  for  Captain  Williams,  who  was  just  then 
about  to  proceed  to  the  Mediterranean  in  a  barque  of  his 
own.  The  accommodations  were  excellent,  all  being  new 
and  fresh,  and  to  these  Mr.  Barclay  added  every  imaginable 
luxury  for  his  brother  and  wife ;  she  being  entirely  willing 
to  accompany  her  husband  on  his  pious  mission. 

Captain  Eliathan  Williams,  whose  grief  had  been  more 
audibly  expressed  at  the  funeral  than  that  of  any  other  per- 
son, was  rejoiced  to  fulfil  the  last  injunctions  of  his  young 
friend.  So  every  thing  being  'arranged,  Mr.  Richard  Bar- 
clay, with  his  wife,  sailed  for  Leghorn,  and  as  they  stood  on 
the  deck  of  their  good  vessel,  the  shores  of  their  native 
land  receding  from  their  sight,  they  beheld  their  affectionate 
friends  greeting  them  with  cheering  signals.  And  these 
friends,  as  they  wended  their  way  back  sadly  to  their  homes, 
looked  upon  the  events  of  the  last  few  months  as  a  tale  that 
had  been  told,  both  pleasant  and  mournful.  Pleasant,  that 
they  had  possessed  the  will  and  the  power  to  create  an 
atmaspliere  of  love  and  devotion  around  the  departing  days 


386  THE    BARCLAYS 

of  their  young  friend ;  and  melancholy,  that  they  had  just 
beheld  his  remains  borne  swiftly  away  by  the  pretty  argosy 
then  trimming  its  white  canvas  to  the  wind  in  their  own 
beautiful  harbor.  They  thought  of  Richard  Barclay,  and 
dwelt  with  intense  satisfaction  on  his  noble  devotion  to  Julian 
Seaton,  renouncing  his  new  home,  where,  grumbler  as  he 
was,  and  ever  would  be,  he  confessed  himself  to  enjoy  pure 
and  unalloyed  happiness ;  and  giving  up  all  his  newly  ac- 
quired comforts  to  cross  the  Atlantic,  in  an  inclement  season, 
for  love  of  the  poor  youth  who  had  entwined  himself  around 
his  warm  heart.  And  yet  when  they  mused  upon  all  the 
endearing  and  excellent  qualities,  and  the  positive  fascina- 
tion of  Julian  Seaton,  who  had  seemed  to  scatter  '  love- 
powders  '  around  him,  they  marvelled  not  at  the  sacrifice. 
They  prayed  that  prosperous  gales  might  waft  the  high- 
souled  man  to  his  destination,  and  in  due  time  restore  him 
and  his  charming  wife  to  their  own  pleasant  home. 

Mr.  Barclay  returned  home,  sadly  missing  his  brother, 
who,  whatever  his  minor  faults  might  be,  was  a  daily  bless- 
ing to  him.  It  often  happens  that  absence,  like  death,  swal- 
lowing up  all  the  little  discrepencies  of  character,  leaves 
nothing  behind  save  its  excellences,  the  defects  being  com- 
pletely forgotten  in  the  sad  blank  occasioned  by  the  depar- 
ture of  a  relative  or  friend,  beloved  despite  his  faults.  The 
French  pi'overb,  that  the  absent  are  always  in  the  wrong,  is 
hardly  a  correct  one. 

That  evening  was  a  particularly  gloomy  one  in  Mr.  Bar- 
clay's family.  Georgy  had  hardly  been  visible  for  a  month, 
and  Mrs.  Meredith,  every  time  she  looked  upon  uncle  Rich- 
ard's empty  chair,  felt  her  eyes  suffused  with  tears.  Mrs. 
Sanderson  was  ever  pretexting  some  excuse  to  slip  away 
from  her  family  to  minister  to  her  suffering  sister,  so  that 
the  burthen  of  making  things  even  apparently  comfortable 
laid  upon  the  husbands  of  the  ladies,  who  were  also  quite 
unequal  to  the  task.  Mr.  Barclay  retired  early,  having 
lately  passed  many  sleepless  nights,  and  the  little  party  was 
dispersed. 


OF    BOSTON.  387 


CHAPTER  XLV. 


•  I  could  foi'give  the  miserable  hours 
His  folsehood,  and  his  only,  taught  my  heart; 
But  I  cannot  forgive  that  for  his  sake 
My  faith  in  good  is  shaken.' 

L.  E.  L. 

Mr.  Barclay's  family  had  resumed  its  usual  routine  of 
existence,  chequered  as  it  so  lately  had  been ;  this  was  a 
great  comfort  to  him.  Several  of  its  members  had  received 
pleasant  letters  from  Mrs.  Richard  Barclay,  full  of  renewed 
interest  and  intense  satisfaction  in  her  present  visit  to  Italy, 
and  very  amusing  recitals  of  their  uncle's  sayings  and 
doings  ;  but  nothing  from  him,  except  a  few  hurried  notes 
when  he  reached  Florence,  respecting  his  melancholy  errand 
and  other  things.  He  had,  however,  long  promised  to  write 
a  ponderous  letter. 

Some  time  elapsed,  but  at  last,  it  came.  Now  an 
epistolary  correspondence  was  Mr.  Richard's  horror ;  not 
that  he  disliked  receiving  agreeable  missives,  for  who  does.'' 
He  loathed  the  trouble  of  answering  them,  but  nobody  was 
more  anxious  for  the  arrival  of  the  mails  than  was  he.  On 
the  much  desired,  thickly  folded  packet  being  opened  in  full 
conclave  by  Mrs.  Barclay,  she  read  : 

'  Rome, . 

'  I  wrote  you,  mv  dear  brother,  from  Florence,  giving  you 
a  short  account  of  our  safe  arrival  there,  and  the  laying  in 
the  tomb,  by  the  side  of  his  mother,  of  our  beloved  Julian. 
God  bless  his  sweet  memory,  and  may  I  ever  preserve  it  as 


888  THE    BARCLAYS 

freshly  in  my  heart  as  now.  I  could  write  many  things  on 
this  subject,  but  you  know  I  abhor  what  is  usually  called 
sentiment,  and  shall  leave  all  that  sort  of  things  to  my 
wife. 

'  So  here  we  are  in  the  "  Eternal  City,"  which  the  dear 
boy  loved  so  well.  I  have  seen  the  Montmis,  and  paid  them 
their  legacy  ;  whether  I  get  mine  or  not,  will  signify  nothing 
to  me.  They  are  not  rich,  and  two  thousand  dollars  is  a  vast 
deal  of  money  here.  Tiiey  received  the  sum  with  floods  of 
tears.  My  wife  is  enchanted  with  them,  and  a  great  intimacy 
has  sprung  up  between  them. 

'  The  sight-seeing  here,  —  Oh  !  how  heartly  wearied  I  am 
of  it !  —  is  as  eternal  as  the  city  itself;  and,  as  we  have  a 
large  carriage,  Fanny  offers  two  places  to  the  Montinis  in 
it,  and  they  accompany  us  every  where,  and  are  excellent 
guides,  and  then  they  usually  return  to  dine  and  pass  the 
evening  with  us.  These  people  have  told  me  many  dis- 
graceful anecdotes  of  that  rascal,  Paul  Seaton,  and  I  am 
now  more  rejoiced  than  ever  that  I  refused  to  receive  him  in 
Florence,  and  insisted  that  all  communications  between  us 
should  pass  through  the  hands  of  my  lawyers,  —  'tis  the 
only  way  to  treat  such  cattle.  Whatever  humbug  he  may 
write  to  you,  answer  him  never  a. word,  he  is  wholly  beneath 
the  notice  of  a  gentleman,  and  is  universally  despised  where- 
ever  he  is  known,  as  a  dishonored  gambler  and  miserable 
creature.  I  absolutely  sicken  when  I  think  of  his  wicked- 
ness, deceit,  and  treachery  to  his  own  child,  the  dear  angef 
now  in  heaven.  How  he  came  to  possess  such  a  son, 
Heaven  only  knows.  The  goodness  of  our  lost  one,  I  think, 
must  have  descended  from  his  mother;  Spurzheim  always 
held  to  this  doctrine  in  similar  cases.  At  any  rate  never  had 
poor  child  a  worse  father. 

'  I  believe  the  money  is  all  safe,  thanks  to  the  probity  of 
the  Italian  lawyers  ;  for  Paul  Seaton  has  tried  hard  enough 
to  grasp  the  whole,  but  quite  unsuccessfully.  Let  us  now 
drop  his  name  forever  ;  'tis  melancholy  to  think  that  the 
earth  is  cumbered  with  such  wretches. 


OF    BOSTON.  389 

'Nothing  can  surpass  my  wife's  overboiling  enthusiasm 
touching  Rome,  save  her  indefatigable  industry ;  she  works 
hard  all  day,  and  talks  all  the  evening  with  a  host  of 
virtuosos,  literary  people,  and  artists.  I  leave  them  all  to 
her,  —  you  know  she  likes  to  ask  questions,  —  and  confine  my 
intercourse  to  some  sensible  John  Bulls,  —  capital  fellows ! 
who  agree  with  me  thoroughly.  Now,  it  must  be  confessed 
I  am  every  day  victimized,  and  so  are  they  by  their  wives, 
and  that's  a  great  comfort  to  me ;  for  Fanny  almost  drives 
me  distracted  with  her  confounded  sight-seeing  friends.  We 
are  taken  by  a  squad  of  antiquaries  and  solemnly  informed, 
one  day,  that  such  and  such  ruins  bear  such  and  such 
names,  and  all  manner  of  learned  authorities  quoted  to  back 
these  all-important  assertions ;  the  very  next  morning  comes 
another  cohort  of  seers,  and,  carrying  us  to  the  identical 
spots  we  visited  but  yesterday,  tell  us,  most  emphatical- 
ly, that  the  preceding  set  were  all  wrong,  and  we  must 
unlearn  our  lesson  and  spell  out  another.  I  wish  you  could 
but  hear  these  two  contending  parties  squabble  in  the  even- 
ings at  Fanny's  tea-table ;  it's  glorious  fun  ;  they  do  every 
thing  but  come  to  blows  ;  and  what  hinders  them,  I  and  my 
chosen  friends,  the  English,  can  never  tell.  Some  how  the 
natives  of  the  white  cliffs  of  Albion  and  we  Americans  do 
fraternize  better  together  in  foreign  parts  than  other  nations, 
so  we  get  together  in  corners  and  enjoy  the  sport  amazingly. 

'  You  well  know  what  my  wife  is.  If  she  were  to  set  up 
housekeeping  in  the  desert  of  Arabia  the  Stony,  she  would 
have  a  crowd  round  her.  I'm  not  in  the  least  jealous  of 
the  antiquaries,  they  might  be  set  up  to  frighten  crows  ;  and 
the  artists  and  others  are  all  well-behaved  enough  ;  so  if 
this  kind  of  thing  amuses  her,  I'm  content  and  never 
object.  But  what  I  do  rebel  against  forcibly  is,  the  being 
obliged  to  go  sight-seeing,  every  hour  in  the  daylight. 
Sometimes  she  very  reluctantly  lets  me  off,  but  she  thinks 
that,  as  I  never  was  here  before,  I  must  not  miss  a  single 
columbarium ;  and  down  we  go  into  such  poky-holes  and 
S3* 


390  THE    BARCLAYS 

comers  as  I  shall  not  attempt  to  describe,  and  I,  for  one  of 
the  party,  come  up  again  to  the  blessed  light  of  the  sun 
never  a  whit  the  wiser.  Then  we  stand  up  to  our  knees  in 
mud  and  filth,  our  teeth  chattering  with  tlie  cold,  even  in 
bellissima  Roma,  before  magnificent  buildings  which  once 
had  superb  flights  of  broad  marble  steps  to  their  entrances  ; 
now  all  have  disappeared.  There  we  speculate  upon  their 
sunken  condition,  the  why  and  the  wherefore,  and  all  sorts 
of  theories  are  broached  and  disputed,  of  course.  The  only 
sensible  remark  I  have  heard  made  on  this  subject,  came 
from  a  rollicking  Irishman,  who  turning  to  me,  probably  from 
sympathy,  asked  what  was  the  use  of  all  this  bother.  '  No- 
thing so  easy,'  said  he,  '  as  to  answer,  Every  thing  grows  in 
this  world  —  why  shouldn't  the  earth  ?'  I  leave  you  to 
fancy  what  contemptuous  looks  he  got  from  Fanny's  friends 
for  this  profane  speech.  Nobody  ever  seems  to  be  cold,  but 
poor  I,  in  these  explorations  of  dungeons,  under-ground 
clmrches,  and  ice-houses  of  palaces  and  galleries.  I  pre- 
sume enthusiasm  keeps  these  idolaters  warm  ;  for  my  part, 
if  I  had  any,  it  would  all  ooze  out  of  my  frozen  fingers.  I 
try  hard  for  a  holiday,  and  now  and  then  succeed,  but  Fanny 
is  generally  inexorable.  We  have  a  solemn  looking  man  of 
all  work  who  cooks  our  dinners  amongst  other  things,  and 
excellent  they  are  ;  and,  as  my  rule  is  not  precisely  what  my 
saucy  niece,  the  Dolly,  —  I  humbly  beg  lier  pardon,  Mrs. 
Meredith,  —  predicted  it  would  be,  iron,  I  only  beg  and 
pray  that  I  may  return  home  in  due  season  for  our  repasts. 
And  this,  to  do  Fanny  justice,  is  generally  accorded.  I 
think  I  never,  in  my  natural  life,  enjoyed  a  dinner  as  I  do  in 
Rome,  —  tell  it  not  in  Gath  ;  worn  and  wearied,  it  is  the 
very  best  thing  I  have  in  the  twenty-four  liours,  —  such  beef 
and  half-dried  grapes  !  All  this  is  shockingly  heretical,  I 
know,  but  you  entreated  me  to  write,  and  so  here  goes  for 
the  truth  and  nothing  else.  I  would  not  allow  Fanny  to  see 
this  letter  for  worlds,  as  she  begins  to  fancy  Pm  getting 
round  famously  to  the  true  faith,  and  would  not  be  at  all 
gratified  at  its  contents. 


OF    BOSTON.  391 

'  We  shall  go  from  here  to  Naples  where  another  inevitable 
compaign  of  sight-seeing  awaits  me,  —  pity  me  my  brother; 
and  then,  presto  !  to  Paris.  Once  there,  I  am  on  my  own 
hunting-grounds  and  free  as  air,  having  lived  there  so  long, 
and,  as  my  wife  has  also  enjoyed  the  signal  advantage  of 
sojourning  in  the  capital  where  mortals  can  dispense  with 
happiness,  she  will  not  tease  me  to  death  to  go  trooping 
about  with  her.  A  short  stay  will,  I  most  devoutly  hope, 
suffice  for  Fanny  to  effect  the  ordering  of  forty-four  dresses, 
and  to  fill  up  the  catalogue  of  her  offerings  at  the  shrines  of 
her  innumerable  friends  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic  ; 
and  then,  thrice  blessed  news  !  we  shall  make  our  way  out 
to  America,  where,  thank  Heaven !  there  is  nothing  to  be 
seen, 

'  God  bless  you,  my  dear  brother,  and  all  your  belong- 
ings. Fanny  sends  her  best  love  ;  kiss  your  wife  and 
daughters  for  their  old  uncle  ;  and  box  Johnny's  ears,  —  I 
dare  say  he  merits  punishment  for  some  mischief  or  other. 

'  Yours  faithfully,  Richard  Barclay.' 

This  characteristic  epistle  created  a  vast  deal  of  amuse- 
ment for  the  assembled  listeners,  as  uncle  Richard's  fas- 
cinating grumbling  always  did.  His  perseveringly  untir- 
ing effort  to  make  himself  appear  much  worse  than  he 
was,  were  somehow  never  very  successful.  In  his  short 
notice  of  Julian  they  recognised  their  eccentric  relative's 
weakness. 

'I'm  thoroughly  convinced,'  said  Mrs.  Meredith,  'that  my 
dear  uncle  Dick  is  the  jjiost  henpecked  husband  in  all 
Christendom,  and  will  finish  by  earning  the  title  of  "  good- 
man  Richard." ' 

*  But  I  thought,'  said  her  father,  '  you  had  predicted  pre- 
cisely \he  reverse,  some  time  since.' 

'  I  know  I  did,'  she  replied,  '  but  I'm  not  so  ignorant  now 
as  I  then  was,'  at  the  same  time  bestowing  a  rather  sly  look 
upon  her  husband. 


392  THE     BARCLAYS 

*  Aunt  Fanny,'  said  Mrs.  Charles  Sanderson,  '  perfectly 
understands  her  husband's  character;  certainly  his  wooing 
was  of  the  most  mysterious  nature  ;  nobody  can  deny  that. 
When  I  think  of  uncle  Richard  as  a  Benedict,  I  fancy  I'm 
dreaming,  and  yet  how  harmoniously  he  and  his  wife  live 
together.' 

'  All  nature's  difference  makes  all  nature's  peace,'  said 
Mrs.  Barclay. 

'  My  brother  is  an  excellent  fellow  in  the  main,'  said  Mr. 
Barclay  ;  and  he  looked  around  for  Georgy,  but  she  had 
disappeared. 

The  mention  of  Julian  had  produced  such  sad  and  varied 
emotions,  that  she  was  unable  to  bear  the  scrutiny  of  even 
her  own  family.  There  were  moments  when  he  appeared  to 
her  in  the  recesses  of  her  memory,  bearing  the  old  guise  of 
'  the  first  love,'  '  the  hallowed  form,'  and  she  became  unable 
to  control  her  emotions  ;  then  the  impassable  barrier 
raised  by  his  treachery  and  falsehood,  her  own  desolation, 
the  years  of  shame  and  suffering  she  had  endured,  assumed 
colossal  proportions,  and  she  seemed  to  sink  completely 
under  them.  But  worst  of  all,  her  trust  in  mankind  had  been 
shaken,  that  faith  so  infinitely  dear  to  youth.  It  had  been,  she 
thought,  her  duty  to  cast  all  remembrance  of  her  young  lover 
from  her,  and  this  one  word  duty  creates  a  wonder-working 
effect  with  our  New  England  women.  It  is  heard  all  too 
often,  there  is  no  doubt,  and  as  often  monstrously  misappli- 
ed, and  also  falsely  embodies  a  vast  many  things  irrespective 
of  the  quality  represented,  making  these  women  more  re- 
spectable than  lovable  ;  but  it  ^as  a  great  and  beneficial 
effect  upon  their  characters  when  it  is  adopted  as  an  im- 
portant part  of  their  natures,  in  the  spirit  and  not  the  letter. 

Georgiana  had  cast  off  the  memory  of  Julian  Seaton,  and 
another  had  usurped  his  place  in  her  heart ;  and  so  firmly 
was  he  rooted  as  never  to  be  displaced.  Yet  would  the 
shadow  of  the  lost  one  even  pass  between  the  reality,  and 
produce  moments  of  acute  agony ;  then  would  she  retire  from 


OF    BOSTON.  393 

her  own  beloved  circle,  and  pray  for  strength  to  bear  the 
heavy  burthen  of  her  sorrow.  These  were  sad  and 
wearisome  conflicts ;  they  had  been  of  rare  recurrence 
before  his  death,  —  that  melancholy  event  had  renewed 
them.  She  was  not  always  sure  if  she  had  been  right  in 
refusing  to  see  him  ;  but  she  had  believed  such  an  act  would 
have  been  hypocritical  in  the  extreme  if  she  divulged  not 
the  change  in  her  sentiments,  and  what  might  such  a  terrible 
revelation  have  produced  ?  Even  instant  death,  for  aught  she 
knew  to  the  contrary.  Her  sincere  forgiveness  had  been 
freely  proffered  and  eagerly  accepted,  and  Julian  died 
ignorant  that  another  had  usurped  his  place  in  her  bosom. 
She  felt  that  this  secret  might  remain  undiscovered  to  her 
husband,  so  long  as  she  absented  herself,  but  once  in  his  pres- 
ence, it  must  be  revealed.  This  young  creature  was  blamed 
and  criticised  for  not  appearing  at  the  deathbed  of  her  hus- 
band, accused  of  insensibility,  of  hardness  of  heart  by  those 
who,  unaware  of  the  secret  springs  of  feeling  by  which  she 
was  actuated,  sat  in  judgment  on  her  conduct.  Even  her 
own  mother  had  seemed,  at  first,  to  wish  she  would  make  the 
effort,  until,  in  pouring  forth  all  the  agony  of  her  soul  into 
her  sympathizing  bosom,  her  daughter  had  convinced  her 
that  she  could  not  behold  Julian  Seaton  without  making  the 
dreaded  confession.  And  such  was  Mrs.  Barclay's  horror  of 
duplicity  that  she  felt  obliged  to  concede  that  her  child  was 
right,  for  no  one  could  foresee,  she  well  knew,  what  the  con- 
sequences might  be  of  the  disclosure. 

From  the  moment  of  her  husband's  decease,  Georgiana's 
mind  had  insensibly  gained  a  reasonable  degree  of  com- 
posure, which  she  was  hardly  willing  to  acknowledge  even  to 
herself,  but  there  were  various  causes  combining  to  produce 
this  result,  —  her  own  strong  will,  all  hateful  mystery  dis- 
pelled, her  own  fair  fame  re-established,  the  knowledge  that 
her  youthful  choice  had  been  neither  low  nor  mean,  and,  more 
than  all  besides,  Julian's  ties  of  kindred  with  her  mother. 
She  could  never  forgive  herself,  or  wish  any  one  else  to  do 


394  THE    BARCLAYS 

SO,  the  concealment  she  had  practised  towards  her  excellent 
parents;  but  she  hoped  to  make  a  sufficient  atonement  to 
them  in  devoting  her  whole  existence  to  their  welfare.  Mrs. 
Barclay  had  also  abstained  from  seeing  Julian  Seaton.  She 
dreaded  the  many  questions  he  would  inevitably  ask  of  her ; 
she  had  pardoned  his  treachery',  but  she  no  more  desired  an 
interview  with  him  than  did  her  daughter.  She  knew  he 
was  surrounded  by  affectionate  friends  and  countless  luxuries, 
and  this  satisfied  her  ;  but  when  she  had  once  perused  his 
letters,  she  relented,  and  watched  over  him  tenderly. 

'  When  Mr.  Barclay's  daughters  were  married,  he  had 
settled  on  each  fifty  thousand  dollars,  and  did  the  same  for 
Georgiana.  The  interest  of  this  money  was  paid  quarterly, 
and,  as  she  had  few  expenses,  her  charitable  nature  revelled 
in  the  power  of  alleviating  distress  and  dispensing  her  wealth 
freely  ;  and,  as  she  had  ever  possessed  the  signal  advantage 
of  an  admirable  example  in  her  mother  in  this  way,  her 
bounties  were  most  judiciously  bestowed.  She  was,  in  fact, 
a  well  drest  '  Sister  of  Charity,'  going  about  doing  good  in 
an  unostentatious  manner,  secretly  and  wisely  ;  she  had  been 
schooled  in  affliction,  and  had  thereby  acquired  habits  of 
self-control  ;  she  had  become  thoroughly  mistress  of  her- 
self. To  the  world  Georgiana  was  cheerful,  and  apparently 
happy. 

In  process  of  time,  how  soon  or  how  late,  need  hardly  be 
narrated,  Gerald  Sanderson  preferred  his  suit,  and  poured 
forth  his  long-concealed  love,  his  faith  and  devotion  to  the 
woman  to  whom  he  had  vowed  his  life.  Georgiana  received 
this  declaration,  which  she  had  so  long  foreseen  awaited  her, 
with  great  apparent  calmness,  thanked  him  sincerely  for  the 
expression  of  his  alTections,  but  tlrmly  and  decidedly  reject- 
ed them.  Beside  himself  with  grief,  he  urged  her  to 
reconsider  her  refusal,  to  take  pity  on  his  desolation,  and  in 
such  a  noble  and  loyal  manner  as  almost  destroyed  the 
composure  which  veiled  the  sacrifice  she  made.  But  it  was 
made,  and  he  was  informed  that   they  could    never   meet 


OF    BOSTON.  395 

again,  except  as  friends ;  that  he  must  cherish  no  hopes  or 
aspirations  of  any  other  nature  ;  none  must  exist. 

-  Gerald  departed,  in  the  perfect  assurance  that  Georgiana 
felt  completely  indifferent  towards  him,  and  that  no  efforts  of 
his  could  ever  effect  a  change  in  her  feelings.      And  she  ! 

■ — she  flew  to  her  own  chamber,  and,  locking  the  door, 
threw  herself  on  her  bed  and  wept  floods  of  bitter  tears. 
The  sacrifice  was  made,  and  he  was  gone,  and  forever. 
Lost  to  her,  and  by  her  own  free-will,  the  man  who  had 
devoted  himself  to  her  cause  in  all  the  spirit  of  chivahy  and 
love  !     Lost !  lost ! 

It  was  but  a  short  interval  of  the  luxury  of  grief  that  this 
young  creature  permitted  herself  to  indulge.  Soon  she 
arose,  bathed  her  eyes  in  pure  water,  removing  all  traces  of 
her  tears,  and,  nerving  herself  to  the  appointed  task  of 
suffering  in  silence,  she  re-appeared  in  her  own  domestic 
circle, —  the  same  Georgiana  who  was  the  centre  of  its 
attraction,  the  idol  of  her  father,  and  the  source  of  infinite 
happiness  to  her  mother  ;  and  by  dint  of  imparting  felicity 
to  those  around  her  she  became  embued  with  a  portion  of  its 
pervading  essence,  even  herself.  One  other  trial  awaited 
her  in  the  dismissal  of  Mr.  Robert  Redmond  ;  but  this  was 
as  naught  in  comparison  with  the  preceding  one.  She  had 
but  to  impart  to  him  the  utter  impossibility  of  succeeding  in 
his  pretensions  to  her  favor,  and  her  thanks  for  his  good-will, 

—  mere  forms  of  speech  and  courtesy,  leaving  but  slight 
traces  behind  of  their  passage.  Verily  woman's  destiny  is 
to  suffer,  and  she  must  nerve  herself  nobly  to  the  task, 
and  remember, 

"Man's  a  king,  his  throne  is  Duty, 
Since  his  work  on  earth  began." 


396  THE    BARCLAYS 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

•  Think'st  thou  that  this  love  can  stand, 
Whilst  thou  still  dost  say  me  nay  ? 
Love  unpaid  does  soon  disband, 
Love  binds  love  as  hay  binds  hay.'  Marvell. 

Shortly  after  the  rejection  of  Mr.  Robert  Redmond's  suit 
by  Mrs.  Georgiana  Seaton,  his  father  was  seized  with  a  vio- 
lent attack  of  paralysis,  occcasioned  by  intense  application 
and  excessive  hard  work.  This  had  been  preceded  by  sev- 
eral faintings  in  court,  wliich  had  greatly  alarmed  his  son, 
and  he  had  earnestly  remonstrated  with  him  on  the  mode  of 
his  life,  and  entreated  him  to  give  himself  some  relaxation  ; 
but  he  heeded  not  his  child  or  his  wife,  who  was  also  induced 
by  Robert's  urgent  request  to  arouse  herself  sufHciently  to 
do  the  same. 

Mr.  Redmond  insisted  that  if  he  ceased  working  he  should 
inevitably  die,  and  that  he  would  infinitely  prefer  to  expire 
in  his  harness  than  pass  his  days  in  idleness.  On  one  occa- 
sion during  an  illness,  he  was  absolutely  placed  in  bed  by 
his  medical  attendant,  and  ordered  to  keep  perfectly  quiet  ; 
he  was  found  several  hours  afterwards  with  twenty-four 
volumes  of  law  books  all  arranged  about  his  bed,  and  with 
pencil  and  paper  taking  notes.  Robert  saw  full  well  that 
things  must  inevitably  take  their  course  ;  that  his  father  being 
incorrigible,  all  the  efforts  he  could  make  would  be  fruitless, 
and  so  it  eventually  proved. 

Mr.  Redmond  rallied  after  his  illness,  but  being  again  at- 
tacked, was  found  one  morning  dead  in  his  bed,  with  his 
twenty-four  friends,  the  law  books,  surrounding  him  ;  in  this 


OF    BOSTON.  397 

case  they  proved  his  worst  enemies.  Mrs.  Redmond  re- 
ceived the  intelligence  of  her  husband's  decease  with  great 
calmness ;  busied  herself  immensely  for  her  with  her  mourn- 
ing ;  was  extremely  particular  touching  the  width  of  her 
crape  and  the  quality  of  her  bombazine,  and  altogether  bore 
her  widowhood  discreetly.  She  sat  with  the  newspapers  in 
her  hands,  reading  for  hours  their  heralding  forth  of  the  great 
and  good  qualities  of  the  deceased,  and  had  a  sort  of  dim  con- 
sciousness that  she  must  herself  have  been  very  blind  to  so 
many  excellences. 

A  learned  man  was  Mr.  Redmond,  a  great  chamber  coun- 
sel advocate,  and  nothing  else  ;  he  had  neither  been  a  good 
husband,  father,  or  friend  ;  his  life  had  been  passed  amid 
folios,  to  the  extinction  of  all  the  good  qualities  he  might 
have  possessed  when  he  began  his  prosperous  career.  Not 
one  half  hour  in  the  twenty-four  had  he  given  to  his  family. 
God  had  raised  up  for  it  in  the  person  of  his  son,  Robert 
Redmond,  a  friend  and  judicious  adviser,  and  this  had  been 
a  signal  mercy.  Many  evil  consequences  had  ensued  from 
the  father's  utter  negligence  of  his  duties,  which  even  all  the 
efforts  of  the  son  had  not  been  able  to  avert.  It  had  been  a 
subject  of  perpetual  astonishment  to  all  Robert's  friends  how 
he  had  become  the  man  he  was  under  the  circumstances. 
It  sometimes  however  happens  that  children,  by  the  very 
reason  of  perceiving  the  bad  consequences  of  mismanage- 
ment, or  none  at  all,  as  in  this  case,  mark  out  for  themselves 
a  totally  contrary  course,  and  strictly  follow  it. 

Jane  was  obstreperous,  as  she  must  ever  be  ;  but  having 
finally  exhausted  the  first  grand  ebullition  of  her  grief,  she 
resumed  her  usual  routine  of  existence  as  if  nothing  had 
occurred  ;  her  sister  showed  much  sensibility  of  a  more 
endearing  quality. 

Robert  Redmond,  after  judiciously  arranging  his  father's 
affairs,  —  for  Mr.  Redmond,  who  had  executed  countless  last 
wills  and  testaments  for  his  clients,  had  never  found  a  dis- 
posable moment  to  make  one  for  himself,  —  then  announced 
34 


398  THE    BARCLAYS 

his  intention  of  going  to  Europe  immediately  for  a  couple  of 
years,  and  invited  his  mother  and  sisters  to  accompany  him. 
Mrs.  Redmond  actually  recoiled  from  her  son's  proposition 
with  a  species  of  horror ;  not  that  she  disliked  the  idea  of  a 
change  of  scene,  on  the  contrary  rather  desired  it,  but  the 
exertion  she  must  make  to  get  herself  in  readiness  !  How 
was  she  ever  to  put  in  order  her  travelling  trunks  and  boxes  ? 
This  question  she  propounded  to  herself  fifty  times  a  day, 
and,  at  last,  as  a  finishing  resource,  sent  for  Mrs.  Barclay. 
That  lady  immediately  flew  to  her  assistance,  well  compre- 
hending her  inanimate  friend's  dilemma,  and  found  Mrs. 
Redmond,  who  had  made  up  her  mighty  mind  to  go,  with  all 
her  new  and  lugubrious  wardrobe  laid  on  the  chairs,  tables, 
bed  and  floor.  She  turned  as  Mrs.  Barclay  entered,  and  in 
most  imploring  accents  demanded  of  her  how  she  was  ever 
to  get  all  those  things  into  all  those  trunks.  Mrs.  Barclay 
having  cleared  a  way  for  herself,  asked  for.  Mrs.  Redmond's 
maid,  who  appearing,  declared  her  mistress  had  asked  her 
the  same  question  over  and  over  again,  and  that  she  knew  no 
more  than  the  babe  unborn  how  to  answer  her.  Mrs.  Bar- 
clay then  assured  the  proprietor  of  this  grand  display  of 
grief,  that  she  must  decide  to  leave  at  least  one  half  behind, 
which  she  sorrowingly  consented  to  do,  and  then  all  things 
being  arranged,  the  packing  was  satisfactorily  completed. 

Mrs.  Redmond  and  her  family  sailed,  her  valedictory 
speech  being,  '  diat  but  for  the  immense  exertions  of  my 
kind  neighbor  we  should  never  have  been  able  to  depart.' 
Robert,  being  unable  to  trust  himself  with  another  interview 
witli  Gcorgiana,  took  an  aflectionate  leave  of  the  rest  of  the 
family. 

They  passed  the  winter  in  Paris,  and  Gcorgy  had  the 
extreme  satisfaction  to  learn  that  her  lover  had  replaced  her 
image  in  his  breast  by  admitting  another  of  great  beauty  and 
attraction,  he  having  met  in  that  gay  capital  a  young  Amer- 
ican girl  from  Baltimore,  fallen  suddenly  and  desperately  in 
love  with  her,  and  married  her,  to  the  great  delight  of  his 
mother  and  sisters. 


OF    BOSTON. 


399 


No  passion,  however  eternal  it  may  promise  to  be, 
will  ever  survive  the  impossibility  of  a  return ;  there  may 
have  been  exceptions,  but  they  are  very  rare  and  uncom- 
mon ;  there  must  be  a  ray  of  hope.  Mrs,  Robert  Red- 
mond had  a  young  cousin,  a  small,  pale,  quiet,  unpre- 
tending individual,  who  never  raised  his  voice  above  a  whis- 
per, and  was  besides  excessively  shy  and  nervous,  —  he  was 
travelling  with  her  and  her  mother  for  his  health.  This  gen- 
tleman, who  rejoiced  in  the  imposing  patronymic  of  Diony- 
sius  Hornblower,  a  name  which  in  nowise  designated  his 
feeble  character,  Avas  nearly  as  helpless  as  a  child.  He 
possessed  a  good  fortune,  which  he  had  neither  spirit  nor 
taste  to  spend,  his  whole  time  being  in  fact  occupied  with 
looking  after  his  immense  variety  of  ailments,  imaginary  and 
otherwise.  He  carried  with  him  always  a  medicine  chest, 
which  was  not  however  very  cumbrous,  he  being  a  homceo- 
pathist ;  but  as  it  took  him  a  comfortable  while  to  count  the 
infinitesimal  doses  in  the  course  of  the  day,  and  served  to 
Kill  time,  it  was  generally  useful  on  that  account. 

Di  Hornblower,  as  he  was  called  for  shortness,  —  some 
people  added  Miss,  —  rarely  ventured  forth  until  mid-day,  and 
always  returned  in  excellent  season  for  his  dinner,  which  he 
ate  with  an  enormous  appetite  at  five  of  the  clock,  all  the 
while  declaring  stoutly  he  had  none  whatever.  After  a  short 
nap  he  always  awoke,  and  asked  his  aunt  and  cousin,  — 
'  What  shall  I  do  with  myself  until  twelve  o'clock  to-night?' 
They  invariably  replied,  '  Go  to  the  theatre ; '  but  he 
answered  that  he  did  not  understand  the  French  language  ; 
so  he  found  the  theatre  was  a  horrid  bore.  Then  they 
would  suggest  the  opera,  to  which  he  responded  that  he 
detested  music  ;  they  urged  that  his  medical  man  had 
ordered  him  to  amuse  himself,  —  a  little  opera,  a  little  the- 
atre, a  few  balls  being  the  prescription.  Di  was  not  to  be 
persuaded,  so  they  recommended  some  pleasant  book,  and 
he  averred  he  could  not  read  at  night,  his  eyes  being  very 
weak.     So  this  ceremony  regularly  occurring  every  even- 


400  THE     BARCLAYS 

ing,  the  aunt  and  cousin  were  just  beginning  to  declare  to 
each  other  that,  of  all  the  inflictions  two  poor  lone  women 
were  ever  saddled  with,  theirs  was  the  most  intolerable,  when 
Robert  Redmond  came,  saw,  and  conquered  ;  and  his  gentle 
sister  Jane  obligingly  took  the  invalid  off  their  hands,  for  she 
married  him. 

It  may  be  positively  asserted  that  Miss  Jane  Redmond 
married  Mr.  Dionysius  Hornblower,  for,  he  being  much 
younger  than  herself,  and  moreover  awfully  afraid  of  her, 
had  apparently  never  dared  to  open  his  lips  in  her  august 
presence,  and  would  have  as  soon  thought  of  facing  a  green 
dragon  as  expressing  an  opinion  before  her  ;  besides  she 
was  so  very  tall  and  he  so  short.  It  was  true,  nevertheless, 
that  little  Di  had  ventured  to  whisper  to  his  aunt  his  aversion 
to  Mr.  Redmond's  sister,  '  the  ferocious  Miss  Jane,'  and 
Jane  knew  this,  she  having  accidentally  heard  this  confi- 
dential communication.  Whether  she  incontinently  resolved 
to  take  him  upon  the  spot  in  pure  opposition,  is  not  positively 
recorded,  but  that  she  possessed  herself  forthwith  of  this 
jewel  of  high  price  in  quick  time,  every  body  was  assured 
by  a  grandiose  ceremony  in  the  way  of  a  wedding,  to  which 
all  the  Americans  in  Paris  were  bidden.  The  bride  was  all 
dominant,  as  usual ;  her  dress  was  of  white  velvet,  orange 
blossoms,  and  Chantilly  lace,  becoming  in  the  extreme  de- 
gree, and  was  vastly  admired  ;  the  breakfast  was  superb. 
Mrs.  Dionysius  Hornblower  presided  over  this  magnificent 
repast  in  great  state  ;  her  little  spouse  was  present,  but  the 
guests  being  intensely  occupied  in  the  discussion  of  Parisian 
delicacies,  were  very  unobservant  of  that  unobtrusive  indi- 
vidual, and  only  remembered  afterwards  that  he  left  the 
table  in  the  middle  of  the  feast,  on  the  plea  of  slight  indispo- 
sition, and  that  the  bride  elect  took  no  manner  of  notice  of 
his  disappearance. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dionysius  Hornblower  left  Paris  that  day 
for  beautiful  Italy,  and  all  the  family  was  vastly  relieved  of 
a  certain  and  positive  degree  of  oppression  by  her  absence, 


OF    BOSTON.  401 

and  of  a  vast  amount  of  dullness  by  that  of  the  bride- 
groom. 

Mary  Redmond  immediately  expanded  into  a  young  lady, 
the  absence  of  her  tyrannical  sister  causing  an  entire  revo- 
lution in  her  habits  and  feelings  ;  and  the  care  of  her  help- 
less mother  devolving  upon  her,  she  evinced  great  good 
sense  and  discretion  in  the  discharge  of  this  duty.  Mrs. 
Redmond  rejoiced  in  the  change  of  affairs  —  and  all  the 
more,  as  she  dared  not  give  expression  to  her  feelings  —  so 
she  lavished  upon  her  youngest  daughter  a  good  degree  of 
tenderness.  All  efforts,  agreeable  or  otherwise,  being  ex- 
tremely repugnant  to  her  habits,  she  made  great  exertions 
to  prove  to  her  child  the  value  of  her  attentions,  by  making 
her  most  beautiful  presents  in  jewelry  and  books,  and 
actually  sallied  forth  alone  to  purchase  them  ;  and,  on  the 
first  of  these  grand  excursions,  sadly  alarmed  her  daughter 
by  not  returning  until  night.  By  constant  practice  she 
learned  to  walk  a  little,  but  never  much  admired  the  exer- 
cise ;  still,  there  were  so  many  things  to  be  seen  in  the 
streets,  that,  her  attention  being  diverted  from  herself,  and 
her  mind  occupied,  she  certainly  made  more  progress  in 
pedestrianism  than  she  had  ever  done  before  ;  but,  after  all, 
hers  was  a  snail's  pace.  She  was  much  pleased  with  Mrs. 
Robert  Redmond,  and  though  she  would  have  preferred 
Georgiana  Seaton,  still  she  was  not  insensible  to  the  pretty 
face  and  pleasing  manners  of  her  new  daughter — the  more 
especially,  as  she  proved  to  be  quite  a  busy  person,  liking 
housekeeping  very  much,  and  promising  to  take  all  care 
off  her  hands  ;  and  this  qualification  Mrs.  Redmond  appre- 
ciated much  more  than  all  the  accomplishments  of  the 
blooming  bride. 

Robert  Redmond  was  extremely  glad  to  perceive  that  his 
mother  was  beginning  to  use  her  feet  —  which  heretofore 
had  been  of  no  more  use  to  her  than  those  of  Mrs.  Chin-Chow 
Ling,  or  any  other  Chinese  lady  —  and  hoped  she  would 
continue  this  salutary  habit  on  returning  home.  i\Iary  Red- 
34 


402  THE -BARCLAYS 

mond  was  not  particularly  pleased  with  Parisian  society, 
decidedly  thinking  it  was  no  sphere  for  young  American 
girls.  Mrs.  Robert  Redmond  had  a  few  French  acquaint- 
ances, and  Mary  accompanied  her  to  a  beautiful  ball, 
with  another  family  from  New  York,  which  consisted  of  a 
handsome  mother  and  three  good-looking  daughters.  The 
latter  had  ruled  and  reigned  at  home  —  giving  entertain- 
ments, receiving  visits,  &;c.  What  was  their  unbounded 
disappointment  at  finding  themselves  restricted,  even  before 
they  went,  in  the  arrangement  of  their  dress,  but  on  arriv- 
ing, being  obliged  to  be  carefully  seated  by  the  side  of  their 
mother,  and  she  invited  to  dance  in  preference  to  them- 
selves !  This  was,  indeed,  a  new  phase  of  society  for  them, 
to  which  they  submitted  with  very  ill  grace.  The  lady, 
who  had  still  retained  a  fancy  for  her  dancing  days,  ac- 
cepted her  invitations,  which  were  quite  numerous  ;  whereas 
Mary  and  her  companions  sat  in  speechless  amazement. 
At  last,  they  were  invited  once,  and  once  only.  The  gen- 
tlemen, who  figured  with  them,  made  no  attempts  at  con- 
versation during  the  quadrille,  and,  re-conducting  them  to 
their  places,  left  them,  and  never  returned. 

After  returning  to  their  hotel,  Mrs.  Robert  Redmond  and 
the  lady  mamma  spoke  in  high  terms  of  the  enjoyment  they 
had  received  that  evening ;  but  the  young  girls  solemnly 
vowed  never  to  make  another  such  sacrifice,  and  never  did. 
Consequently,  INIary  Redmond  ardently  longed  for  a  restor- 
ation to  her  native  land  and  her  rights,  which  she  laughingly 
declared  were  usurped  by  Mrs.  Robert.  To  be  sure,  she 
had  not  '  been  out '  in  America,  but  was  extremely  well 
advised  of  the  state  of  things  there.  Neither  Mrs.  Robert 
or  her  friend  abstained  from  enjoying  themselves  on  account 
of  the  rebellion  of  the  younger  branches,  but  went  wherever 
they  obtained  an  entrance,  insisting  they  were  quite  right  so 
to  do,  it  being  their  last  chance  ;  as,  on  their  return  home, 
they  would  be  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  their  disagreeable 
occupation  of  holding  up  the  walls  once  more  in  matronly 
meditation,  '  fancy  free.' 


OF    BOSTON.  403 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 


'  She  says  she  had  a  gentleman  who  came  thirty  miles  to  her  to  hear 
the  relation  ;  and  that  she  told  it  to  a  roomful  of  people  at  the  time.' 
WoxDEBFUL  Story  of  one  Mks.  Veal. 

Mr.  Barclay  had  heard  several  rumors  that  his  brother 
had  been  ill  in  Rome,  but  being  quite  sure  that,  if  there 
were  any  danger,  Mr.  Richard's  wife  would  have  advised 
him  of  it,  he  did  not  mention  them  to  his  family.  Some 
time  elapsed  when  glad  tidings  came,  in  the  shape  of  a  letter 
from  pleasant  Aunt  Fanny.  It  was  addressed  to  Mrs.  Bar- 
clay.    She  wrote : 

'  Naples, . 


'  We  have  been  here,  my  dear  sister,  several  weeks,  and 
my  time  having  been  very  much  occupied  with  the  sight- 
seeing at  which  my  husband  rails  so  heartily,  must  be  my 
apology  for  not  having  written  before  this ;  your  brother  has 
none  other  than  sheer  laziness  as  his  excuse. 

'  I  am  sorry  to  write  that  my  husband  was  threatened 
with  a  fever  in  Rome,  which  he  ascribes  to  being  carried, 
or  forced,  into  an  underground  church  by  his  wife  and  her 
friends;  but,  I  assure  you  on  honor  that,  being  tempted  by 
a  delicious  day,  he  left  his  overcoat  at  home,  and  thereby 
contracted  a  cold,  of  which  he  wilfully  took  no  note  what- 
ever, until  he  was  obliged  to  take  to  his  bed,  where  he 
remained  two  or  three  days.  From  this  cold  he  recovered 
very  quickly,  not  having  allowed  me  to  enjoy  more  than 
one  adventure  during  his  illness,  which  was  very  cruel ;  in- 
deed it  was  this: 


404  THE    BARCLAYS 

'  On  my  arrival  at  Florence  I  engaged  a  Swiss  maid,  a 
travelling  servant,  she  having  been  in  Italy  several  years. 
I  procured  an  excellent  character  of  her  for  honesty  and 
other  good  qualities  from  an  American  lady,  whom  she  had 
served  a  long  while  who,  however,  added  that  she  was  very 
bad-tempered.  We  have  got  on  remarkably  well  together, 
notwithstanding,  I  kept  house  in  Rome  very  pleasantly, 
and  had  an  agreeable  circle  around  me  every  evening,  my 
tea  being  the  attraction.  Your  brother  enjoyed  those  little 
parties  very  much,  whatever  he  may  please  to  say  to  the 
contrary.  One  evening,  as  the  company  assembled,  each 
person  brought  intelligence  of  a  murder  which  had  been 
conunittcd  on  a  jeweller,  and,  as  he  was  robbed  of  money, 
the  Romans  present  stoutly  averred  that  no  inhabitant  of  the 
Eternal  City  had  perpetrated  the  deed.  They  said  Romans 
murdered  for  jealousy  and  revenge,  but  never  for  money. 
This  produced  a  discussion,  and  elicited  many  interesting 
stories  of  all  sorts  of  horrid  adventures.  When  our  guests 
departed,  your  brother  informed  me  he  should  have  enjoyed 
the  recitals  extremely,  but  for  a  violent  pain  in  his  back  and 
head ;  this  sadly  alarming  mc,  I  ordered  a  fire  to  be  made 
in  a  chamber,  which  was  at  the  end  of  a  rather  long  and 
narrow  corridor,  and  immediately  commenced  most  vigorous 
operations  with  baths,  frictions,  &c.,  to  which  was  added  a 
tolerable  dose  of  medicine.  The  patient  grumbled  awfully, 
but  I  was  absolute,  and  as  he  really  began  to  improve,  he 
looked  upon  my  proceedings  more  favorably  in  the  end. 
Having  finished,  1  ordered  Antonio,  the  cook,  to  carry  his 
bed  and  throw  it  on  the  floor  by  the  side  of  my  husband, 
and  then  left  him,  with  many  injunctions  to  call  me,  if  his 
master  awoke,  which,  it  appears,  he  did  not.  It  was  naturally 
very  late  when  I  retired  to  my  own  chamber,  and,  being 
much  fatigued  from  my  unwonted  exertions,  I  dismissed  my 
maid,  as  soon  as  possible,  and  was  shortly  in  a  profound 
sleep. 

'  How  long  this  had  lasted  I  am  unable  to  tell,  but  I  awoke 


OF    BOSTON. 


405 


finding  myself  sitting  upright  in  bed,  and  staring,  in  great 
affright,  at  the  reflection  on  the  wall  of  the  light  from  a 
lamp  in  the  adjoining  chamber.  Now  in  this  room  slept  my 
maid,  and,  as  she  was  a  person  much  given  to  vociferating 
and  noisy  demonstrations  on  the  slightest  possible  and  im- 
possible occasions,  I  had  a  dim  consciousness  that  Issaline 
was  not  in  that  room.  This  feeling  became  appalling  cer- 
tainty, when  sundry  stealthy  movements,  and  opening  of 
drawers  and  trunks  were  added.  I  think  I  never  knew  what 
perfect  fright  was  before.  I  was  convinced  Issaline  was  mur- 
dered, and  in  her  sleep,  for  in  no  other  way  could  the  deed 
have  been  perpetrated,  except  in  her  slumbers,  for  she  would, 
otherwise,  have  aroused  all  Rome  with  her  cries  and  shrieks. 
'  The  examination  of  all  the  corners  of  the  chamber  was 
then  made,  and  I  imagined  that  a  person  crawled  under  the  bed 
and  dragged  out  some  cumbrous  article.  If  this  should  be  poor 
Issaline's  body  !  !  My  blood  actually  curdled  in  my  veins, 
—  my  very  hair  stood  on  end  with  terror,  —  but  I  neither 
shrieked  nor  groaned  ;  for  I  well  knew  how  perfectly  fruitless 
would  be  any  effort  of  that  sort,  as  my  husband  and  Antonio's 
room  was  at  so  great  a  distance  from  me,  and  in  my 
total  silence  seemed  to  lie  my  only  security.  And  there  I 
sat,  —  it  seemed  to  me  an  age  of  torture.  All  the  horrid  sto- 
ries to  which  I  had  lent  such  an  attentive  ear  before  I  retired 
to  rest,  arose  before  me  in  a  living,  moving  mass,  and  passed 
before  my  sight  like  the  scenes  in  an  overwrought  tragedy 
on  the  stage,  when  the  senses  being  held  captive,  all  is 
fearful  reality,  and,  palpitating  and  breathless,  naught  re- 
mained but  the  certainty  of  a  violent  death.  At  last,  the 
investigation  of  Issaline's  premises  seemed  to  have  come  to 
a  close,  and  the  footsteps  approached  my  own  door.  There 
was  doubt  and  hesitation ;  the  lock  was  gently,  slowly  turned. 
By  this  time  big  drops  of  perspiration  were  chasing  each 
other  rapidly  down  my  cheeks  and  even  arms,  and  the  fear- 
ful and  horrible  click  of  that  lock  will  live  in  my  memory 
to  my  latest  hour,  —  uttering  no  sound  I  fainted  dead  away. 


406  THE    BARCLAYS 

'  From  this  heavy  swoon  I  was  aroused  hy  the  opening  of 
my  shutters,  and  a  bright  sun  showed  me  Issaline.  I  started 
up  confused,  bewildered;  my  first  impressions  were  that  I 
had  experienced  a  paralyzing  nightmare.  I  sent  her  to 
inquire  for  my  husband's  state  ;  she  returned,  reporting  a 
favorable  night,  and  then  I  said  to  her,  "  Did  you  go  out  of 
the  house  last  night,  after  I  retired  ?    I  hope  not." 

'  "  Oh  !  no  ma'am,  assuredly  not ;  I  should  never  think  of 
such  a  thing  without  asking  your  permission." 

'  "  Then  where  did  you  sleep  t  certainly,  not  in  your  own 
room." 

'  Upon  this,  out  she  rushed,  and  returned  bearing  aloft  in 
the  air  a  nightgown. 

' "  Here,  ma'am ! "  screamed  she,  "  this  will  answer 
why  I  did  not  sleep  in  that  room.  Look  and  see  for  your- 
self, how  the  wicked  fleas  treated  me  last  night.  I  could 
not  close  my  eyes  for  them,  and  at  last  took  my  bed  and 
placed  it  on  the  table  in  the  dining-room,  and  climbed  up 
into  it  out  of  their  way,  —  the  abominable  imps  of  dark- 
ness ! " 

*  It  was  impossible  to  resist  this  account,  backed  as  it  was 
by  the  dress,  covered,  as  she  declared,  with  her  own  blood, 
—  her  own  blood!  I  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh,  which  did 
me  a  world  of  good  under  the  circumstances. 

'  "  But,"  said  I,  "  there  was  certainly  some  one  in  your 
chamber  last  night." 

'  "  Oh,  no  ma'am  !  "  said  she,  "  not  in  my  room.  Antonio's 
nephew,  Domenico,  got  up  in  the  night  with  a  violent  colic. 
My  master  has  given  him  some  money,  and  he  has  gone  to 
the  hospital." 

'  This  did  not  at  all  satisfy  me ;  I  was,  more  and  more, 
convinced  that  he  had  ransacked  Issaline's  drawers  and 
boxes  before  he  departed.  She,  however,  persisted  in  think- 
ing him  innocent  of  this  charge  ;  "  for  was  he  not,"  she 
cried,  "  studying  for  the  church  ?  " 


OF    BOSTON.  407 

'I  went  to  my  husband,  found  him  much  better,  and  re- 
lated to  him  my  adventure.  He  evidently  did  not  believe  a 
word  of  it,  but  thought  I  had  been  excited  before  going  to 
sleep,  and  had  suffered  from  a  horrid  dream.  At  this,  I  was 
rather  vexed,  but  thought  I  would  await  his  restoration  to 
entire  health  before  I  gave  him  a  good  scolding  for  his  in- 
credulousness. 

'  In  about  two  hours  I  heard  terrible  shrieks,  and  flying 
into  Issaline's  room,  from  whence  they  had  proceeded,  found 
her  in  strong  hysterics,  wringing  her  hands  and  tearing  her 
hair,  and  declaring  she  had  been  robbed  of  several  Napo- 
leons, and  amongst  them  was  one  given  her  by  her  father, 
many  years  previous  to  her  leaving  home,  which  she  had 
always  preserved  as  a  "  lucky  penny,"  and  would  not  have 
lost  for  worlds.  Indeed,  there  was  no  calamity  which  she 
did  not  predict  for  herself  in  consequence  of  her  loss,  and 
openly  accused  Antonio's  nephew  of  the  larceny.  That 
worthy,  boiling  over  with  rage,  declared  that  his  relative  was 
a  candidate  for  the  church  ;  that  he  felt  the  honor  of  his 
family  disgraced,  and  demanded  of  my  husband  instant  sat- 
isfaction. Your  brother  referred  him  to  me,  saying  that  it 
was  my  maid  who  had  committed  the  offence,  —  a  sly  way 
men  always  have  of  getting  themselves  out  of  trouble,  —  and 
I  suppose  on  that  occasion  congratulated  himself  on  the  pos- 
session of  a  wife  ;  at  any  rate,  I  had  a  hard  task  to  keep  the 
peace,  the  parties  being  so  very  pugnacious.  Issaline  insist- 
ed upon  examining  my  trunks  and  bureaus^  and  discovered 
that  a  superb  gold  watch  of  mine  had  also  disappeared. 
Things  then  began  to  confirm  the  suspicions  I  had  expressed, 
and  my  dream  seemed  to  have  taken  a  tangible  form.  The 
watch  was  of  remarkable  workmanship  and  beauty,  a  pres- 
ent to  me,  and  extremely  valuable  for  the  donor's  sake,  and 
was  also  very  costly. 

'  As  soon  as  your  brother  got  out  again,  I  accompanied 
him  to  an  officiars  office,  to  make  a  statement  of  my  loss, 
and  the  gentleman  being  in  bed  with  a  cold,  we  were  invited 


408  THE    BARCLAYS 

into  his  chamber.  Such  a  bed  !  I  really  think  it  was  in- 
tended to  accommodate  his  whole  family,  so  immense  was 
its  size.  He  was  lying  in  state,  the  sheets  and  pillow-cases 
trimmed  with  rich  lace,  the  counterpane  magnificent,  two 
common  wooden  chairs  and  a  table  completing  the  furniture. 
I  related  my  story,  and  he  wrote  to  the  governor  of  Rome, 
who  ordered  a  number  of  the  police  to  search  Domenico's 
house,  which  was  in  a  village  ten  miles  from  the  city. 
Nothing  was  found.  There  was  in  this  place  one  jeweller's 
shop,  and  that  was  searched  also  ineffectually,  so  my  hus- 
band renounced  all  idea  of  ever  regaining  my  watch. 

'  The  evening  before  I  left  Rome  I  took  Antonio  aside, 
and  told  him  I  was  convinced  that  his  nephew  had  stolen  my 
watch  ;  that  I  knew  liim  to  be  a  very  shrewd  person,  and 
depended  upon  him  to  find  it ;  that  a  sufficient  reward  had 
already  been  offered,  but  that  he  should  be  additionally  paid 
if  the  missing  article  were  restored.  As  to  his  nephew  be- 
ing a  person  studying  for  the  church,  I  did  not  believe  a 
syllable  of  the  story,  for  the  work  of  my  kitchen  was  no  pre- 
paratory step  to  such  an  important  situation.  Antonio  talked 
very  loud,  but  I  told  him  to  keep  still,  and  look  out  sharply 
after  my  watch. 

'  We  left  Rome  the  next  day,  and  in  six  weeks  from  that 
time  I  received  my  precious  watch  safe  and  sound,  a  long 
and  most  grateful  epistle  from  Antonio,  and  such  a  quantity 
of  documents  from  the  police  officers  as  was  certainly  amaz- 
ing—  all  respecting  the  recovery  and  restoration  of  my  time- 
piece. Domenico  had  stolen  it,  and  when  he  knew  sve  had 
quitted  Rome,  he  offered  it  for  sale,  and  Antonio,  watching 
and  waiting,  pounced  upon  his  prey. 

'  I  must,  by  way  of  explanation,  just  tell  you  how  I  came 
to  have  such  a  good  view  of  Domenico's  doings  in  Issaline's 
chamber.  All  the  doors  in  our  Roman  lodgings  were  covered 
with  green  baize,  and  so  shrunken  that  light  and  sounds  were 
freely  admitted,  and  they,  moreover,  were  excessively  capri- 
cious, sometimes  remaining  shut  for  a  week  and  baffling  all 


OF    BOSTON.  409 

our  united  efforts  to  open  them,  and  then  no  human  force 
could  close  them.  Fortunately  for  me,  it  was  their  shutting 
up  time,  and  Issaline,  when  she  left  her  chamber  for  her 
dinner-table  dormitory,  took  the  key  of  my  door  with  her. 
Domenico  had  somehow,  nobody  could  answer  why,  taken 
up  his  abode  in  our  kitchen,  as  scullion,  under  the  distin- 
guished patronage  of  his  uncle,  and  Issaline  had  found  him, 
on  the  morning  of  my  adventure,  in  my  chamber,  and  threat- 
ened to  broomstick  him,  she  said,  for  the  offence.  It  is 
probable  he  then  stole  the  watch. 

'  I  assure  you  I  was  triumphant  when  I  saw  my  watch, 
unbelievers  being  scattered  to  the  winds.  I  now  wish,  my 
dear  sister,  most  solemnly  to  assert  that  I  have  not,  even  in 
one  solitary  instance,  invited  my  husband  to  accompany  me 
in  any  "  sight-seeing  "  here,  in  consequence  of  his  illness  in 
Rome  ;  and  desire  you  will  remember  that  he  has  never 
once  failed  to  go  with  me  on  all  my  excursions.  I  embrace 
you  all,  and  shall  have  the  happiness  to  see  you  shortly. 

'  Yours  in  love  and  affection.  '       Fanny.' 

'  P.  S.  Your  brother  requests  me  to  inform  you  all,  with 
his  best  love,  that  this  is  no  traveller's  tale,  but  a  veracious 
chronicle,  and  that  he  considers  it  to  comprise  all  the  pure 
elements  of  Italian  life  —  fleas,  fright,  and  felony.         F.' 

The  Barclays  were  made  very  happy  just  after  the  recep- 
tion of  Aunt  Fanny's  letter,  by  the  advent  of  a  tiny  creature. 
Mrs.  Sanderson  had  presented  her  husband  with  a  son, 
whom  it  was  instantly  decided  was  to  bear  his  grandfather's 
name  of  John  Barclay.  Charley  Sanderson,  every  body 
had  called  him  so,  married  or  single,  was  beside  himself 
with  joy,  and  expected  every  one  should  congratulate  him. 
Mrs.  Barclay  became  intensely  busy  with  caudle,  and  the 
grandpapa  seemed  almost  as  much  enchanted  as  the  parents. 
But  Johnny  felt  himself  half  a  foot  taller  when  he  command- 
ed every  body  to  call  him  uncle ;  and  Nursey  Bristow  de- 
35 


410  THE    BARCLAYS 

dared  that  such  a  child  had  never  been  seen  in  the  world 
before.  Georgy  and  Mrs.  Meredith  longed  more  earnestly 
than  ever  for  dear  Aunt  Fanny's  arrival,  that  she  might  pro- 
nounce her  opinion  on  the  wondrous  charms  of  the  little 
stranger.  And  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Richard  Barclay  made  their 
appearance  once  more  amidst  their  affectionate  friends  ;  he 
in  great  spirits  and  high  glee,  she  prettier  and  better  dressed 
than  ever.  They  had  brought  home  for  all  their  family  and 
friends  innumerable  presents,  and  had  all  manner  of  inter- 
esting things  to  tell  of  the  countries  they  had  visited  and  the 
people  they  had  seen,  and  were  an  immense  addition  to 
many  other  families  besides  that  of  their  relatives. 

Mr.  Richard  persisted  in  returning  thanks  for  his  restora- 
tion to  a  land  in  which  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen,  and 
professed  himself  delighted  to  arise  in  the  morning  without 
a  load  of  sights  on  his  mind  ;  but  still  he  seemed  to  have 
not  forgotten  the  most  insignificant  of  the  foreign  shows.  In 
France  he  had  been  disappointed,  and  thought  all  things 
changed,  and  not  at  all  for  the  better  ;  and  it  was  observed 
that  he  certainly  did  not  quote  that  country  in  the  same  en- 
thusiastic manner  as  had  been  his  custom  before  his  depar- 
ture. He  declared  his  whole  family  had  got  their  heads 
turned  by  a  little  baby,  and  yet  he  stole  into  Mrs.  Sander- 
son's nursery  very  often  himself,  and  looked  the  least  bit  in 
the  world  ashamed  when  he  was  found  there.  Altogether 
the  Benedict  conducted  himself  remarkably  well,  and  a 
happier  couple  were  rarely  seen. 

Miss  Tidmarsh,  who  had  roundly  asserted  that  the  evident 
improvement  in  his  manners  which  had  developed  itself  on 
his  marriage,  would  never  last,  disliked  immensely  to  hear 
any  mention  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Richard  Barclay's  well-being. 
This,  however,  she  was  doomed  to  hear  and  survive,  if  she 
could,  for  their  house  became  once  more,  as  it  had  always 
been,  the  resort  of  all  the  pleasant  people  in  the  city,  and  as 
they  and  their  friends  were  always  made  welcome,  nothing 
was  more  frequently  remarked  upon  than  its  manifold  attrac- 


OF    BOSTON.  411 

tions.  Indeed,  there  were  found  persons  bold  enough  to 
assert,  even  in  Miss  Serena's  presence,  that  it  was  more 
agreeable  than  ever  since  Mrs.  Ashley  had  married  Mr. 
Richard  Barclay.  This  being  vastly  more  than  that  amia- 
ble YOUNG  person  could  reasonably  endure,  she  instantane- 
ously quarrelled  with  *  the  bears'  friends,  and,  in  fact,  had 
so  many  little  affairs  of  this  kind  on  her  hands,  that  her 
visiting  list  became  sadly  diminished  in  numbers.  There 
was  a  rumor  abroad,  that  many  of  her  acquaintances  — 
friends  she  had  none — took  this  method  of  ridding  them- 
selves of  Miss  Serena  Tidmarsh. 


412  THE    BARCLAYS 


CHAPTER  XLVIIL 


Although  thou  mauu  never  be  mine, 
Although  even  hope  is  denied ; 

'Tis  sweeter  for  thee  despairing, 
Than  aught  in  the  world  beside.' 


BuilNS. 


Mr.  Barclay  having  been  successfully  brought  to  the 
culminating  point  of  his  career,  when,  surrounded  by  his 
children  and  friends,  in  the  possession  of  the  undying  affec- 
tion of  his  cherished  wife,  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  the  good 
things  of  this  world,  and  the  perfect  assurance  of  the  dis- 
charge of  his  duties,  he  may  be  safely  left  with  the  convic- 
tion that  his  lines  are  cast  in  pleasant  places.  As  belonging 
to  the  time-honored  race  of  Boston  merchants,  he  has  nobly 
sustained  their  acknowledged  reputation  for  probity,  upright- 
ness and  benevolence  ;  he  has  ever  been  the  orphan's 
friend  :  has  encouraged  the  youth  of  his  time,  and  solaced 
and  consoled  the  widow.  Adored  by  his  family,  loved  and 
respected  by  his  townsmen,  he  seems  destined  to  pursue 
the  peaceful  tenor  of  his  way,  for  the  residue  of  his  exist- 
ence, in  the  moral  sunshine  which  he  has  created  around 
him  to  gild  the  evening  of  his  days.  Art  and  science  having 
been  fostered  and  cherished  by  his  untiring  and  persevering 
etforts,  he  enjoys  the  perfect  satisfaction  of  beholding  the 
felicitous  results  of  his  own  good  works  in  the  persons  of 
those  whom  liis  own  right  hand  has  raised  from  poverty  and 
depression,  weariness  and  faint-hcartedness  to  absolute  pros- 
perity, and  they  arise  and  bless  him.     Mr.  Barclay's  whole 


OF   BOSTON-  413 

character  may  be  then  summed  up  in  three  words  —  A  good 
citizen. 

'  How  blest  is  he  who  crowns  iu  scenes  like  these 
A  youth  of  labor  with  an  age  of  ease.' 

Mrs.  Barclay,  from  having  cordially  aided  and  assisted 
her  noble  husband  in  his  admirable  efforts,  and  deferring  to 
him  in  the  important  events  of  her  existence,  has  succeeded 
in  producing  these  felicitous  results,  and  has  proved  herself 
worthy  the  happiness  of  sharing  her  destiny  with  a  truly  good 
man. 

Mr.  Richard  Barclay,  subdued,  and  consequently  improved 
by  the  gentler  teachings  and  gentler  influence  of  his  amia- 
ble and  pleasing  wife,  certainly  promises  not  to  relapse  into 
his  old  misanthropic  ways,  and  is  in  a  fair  way  to  renounce 
entirely  his  fault-finding  and  grumbling  habits,  which  is  con- 
sidered by  his  friends  as  quite  miraculous,  and  a  vast  im- 
provement in  that  gentleman's  character. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  has  sold  the  old  house,  and  bitterly  she 
deplored  at  the  time  the  necessity  of  such  a  proceeding  ; 
but  the  estate  becoming,  by  the  increase  of  the  population 
and  growth  of  the  city,  so  immensely  valuable,  she  became 
a  most  wealthy  widow  instanter,  and  immediately  received 
several  proffers  of  marriage,  containing  the  usual  hypocrit- 
ical protestations  of  affection  with  which  fortune-hunters 
attack  ladies  of  a  certain  age.  But  she  was  altogether  too 
wise  to  be  snared  by  such  stratagems,  and,  never  forgetting 
the  husband  of  her  young  days,  her  beatified  vision  of  per- 
fectibility, she  with  studied  dignity  declined  the  false  pre- 
tences of  her  quondam  adorers,  thereby  bestowing  upon 
them  each  '  a  Roland  for  an  Oliver.' 

Gerald  and  Charley  refusing  decidedly  any  participation 
in  their  mother's  newly  acquired  wealth,  begged  her  to  pur- 
chase a  handsome  house  near  her  friends,  to  open  it,  and 
receive  them  hospitably,  and  enjoy  the  good  fortune  which 
85* 


414  THE    BARCLAYS 

had  SO  opportunely  fallen  upon  her,  and  to  their  Avishes  she 
cheerfully  acceded. 

It  was  a  long  while  before  Peter  and  T3inah  and  Tiger 
the  third  could  be  at  all  reconciled  to  the  small  square  of 
earth,  to  which  they  were  consigned  by  this  change  in  their 
domicil  ;  indeed,  these  poor  creatures  were  almost  heart- 
broken. Dinah's  lamentations  and  interrogatories  as  to  the 
getting  up  of  a  washing-day  in  a  nutshell,  —  how  the  linen 
was  ever  to  be  thoroughly  dried,  —  how  she  was  ever  again 
to  whiten  a  counterpane,  —  were  marvellously  affecting  ;  and 
Peter  found  no  space  and  verge  for  any  thing.  The  good 
old  times  were  evermore  in  their  mouths,  and  the  gas  and 
kitchen  ranges  considered  perfect  abominations,  —  such  thor- 
ough conservatives  were  they.  ]\Irs.  Sanderson  was,  at  one 
time,  quite  alarmed,  for  Dinaii's  health  and  strength  seemed 
absolutely  declining;  but,  fortunately,  there  lived  in  the 
neighborhood  a  Methodist  clergyman  of  great  renown 
amongst  the  colored  population;  she  happened  to  know  him, 
and  narrating  to  him  the  sad  state  of  her  servant's  mind,  he 
kindly  lent  himself  to  the  dispelling  and  ejecting  of  these 
thick-coming  fancies  from  Miss  Dinah's  brain,  and  the  good 
creature  was  restored  to  her  pristine  state  of  equanimity. 
]\Irs.  Sanderson  also  deeply  felt  the  deprivation  of  the  old 
house  and  garden,  and  sorely  wept  when  she  beheld  the 
beautiful  flowers  and  venerable  trees  struck  to  the  earth  by 
the  ruthless  hands  of  the  '  improvers.'  Gerald  managed  to 
transplant  one  of  her  idols  clandestinely,  and  place  it  in  the 
corner  of  the  patch  she  now  called  her  own.  This  kind  act 
was  highly  ap[)rovcd  by  his  mother,  who  embraced  and 
thanked  him  most  gratefully;  the  tree  having  been  one  she 
had  herself  planted  in  her  girlish  days. 

Gerald  continues  to  live  with  his  mother,  to  live  and  love 
on.  It  is  generally  believed  that  unrequited  affection  evan- 
esces and  decoys,  without  sustenance.  ^Nlay  not  a  suspicion 
of  the  real  truth  have  dawned  upon  his  hitherto  benighted 
mind  with  regard  to  Georgiana  .'     This  is  mere  conjecture  ; 


OF    BOSTON.  415 

he  has  seen  *  lovers  around  her  sighing,'  and  the  woman 
who  still  holds  his  affections  in  thrall,  has  waived  them  from 
her  presence,  and  will  none  of  them,  —  may  he  not  have 
thereby  conceived  a  suspicion  that  the  heart  of  the  beloved 
one  is  occupied  ?  '  Man  never  is,  but  always  to  be  blest.' 
Perchance,  the  young  lover  may  enjoy  as  great  a  share  of 
happiness  under  '  this  pleasing  delusion,  this  flattering  unc- 
tion,' as  if  he  had  really  obtained  the  object  of  his  idola- 
try, and  gone  forth  to  share  with  her  the  changes  and  the 
chances  of  this  sublunary  sphere.  At  least,  what  comes  to 
him  henceforth  m  the  saddened  guise  of  sorrow's  garb  will 
be  endured  alone,  and  this  to  many  is  a  vast  source  of  con- 
tentment. To  deeply  impressible  hearts  the  sharing  of 
troublous  davs  and  gloomy  hours  with  loved  ones  gives  no 
consolation  whatever ;  they  send  forth  the  joys  and  pleas- 
ures of  their  lives  for  all  to  share,  opening  wide  their  por- 
tals when  flooded  with  sunshine,  but  closing  them  fast  and 
firm  when  dark  clouds  lower. 

Fortune  smiles  on  Gerald  Sanderson  in  all  beside.  He  is 
fast  rising  in  his  profession,  and  from  principle  has  become 
deeply  engrossed  therein  ;  he  works,  occupies  himself,  and 
rejects  manfully  all  gloomy  retrospection,  but  he  has  no  pleas- 
ing hope  for  the  future  on  earth.  His  dreams  have  vanished, 
his  youth  is  gone  ;  it  is  an  old  man  who  lives  in  the  person 
of  the  young  and  handsome  Gerald  Sanderson  ;  'he  has  died 
many  deaths  in  fearing  one.'  This  he  truly  believes,  and 
much  more  besides.  But  will  not  time,  the  assuager,  disa- 
buse him  ?  ^Vill  he  not  be  subject  to  its  influence  with  his 
fellow-men  ?  and  time  alone  can  tell.  At  any  rate,  there 
is  hope  though  he  rejects  it,  just  so  long  as  he  firmly  resists, 
ana,  looking  his  fortunes  sternly  in  the  face,  upholds  himself 
below,  trustinst  to  a  higher  Source  above  for  consolation.  — 
His  mother!  She  is  a  guardian  angel  to  him,  in  his  some- 
times  fitful  moods ;  'tis  she  who  brings  him  home  from 
his  fancied  flights,  which  will  even,  though  repelled  and 
scorned,  still   assail   him.     Gerald    regards    these  visionary 


416  THE    BARCLAYS 

dreams  as  the  source  of  all  his  misfortunes,  and  manfully 
exerts  himself  to  cast  them  off;  he  loathes  them,  conse- 
quently their  recurrence  becomes  less  and  less  frequent,  and 
soon  they  will  entirely  disappear.  Gerald's  is  an  onward 
and  upward  path ;  the  law  an  exacting  mistress,  rebelling 
against  all  romance  and  castle-building. 

Charles  Sanderson,  —  'tis  time  to  drop  the  Charley,  now 
that  he  is  a  respectable  head  of  a  family,  —  is  supremely 
happy ;  his  lovely  wife  shares  the  felichy.  The  tiny  bit 
baby  is  so  wonderful  in  their  eyes,  that  they  assert,  twenty 
times  a  day,  'there  never  was  such  a  child  ever  before 
seen,'  and  no  one  openly  contradicts  them,  though  Miss  Tid- 
marsh  declares  aside  that  all  babies  are  hideous,  and  this 
one  particularly  so.  Mr.  Johnstone  is  enchanted  with  this 
novelty,  and  is  only  puzzled  to  know  what  to  give  the  little 
creature.  He  is,  however,  constantly  ordering  silver  cups 
and  whistles,  and  other  knicknacks  ;  and  he  lives  much  more 
with  the  young  mother  than  at  home,  —  and  takes  lessons 
in  nursery  discipline. 

Mr.  Meredith  devotes  his  life  to  good  works,  in  which  his 
wife,  falsifying  all  the  predictions  launched  forth  at  her  mar- 
riage, nobly  assists  him,  eliciting  the  admiration  of  her  hus- 
band, and  by  far  surpassing  his  fondest  hopes  and  aspirations. 
Mrs.  Meredith  is  charmingly  gay  as  ever,  her  ebullitions 
only  a  little  tempered  by  the  discretion  gathered  from  a 
source  she  so  entirely  respects,  —  her  own  most  excellent 
husband ;  she  never  tires  of  well-doing.  It  thus  appears 
that  a  judicious  direction  of  her  enthusiastic  spirit  into 
proper  channels,  has  completed  and  perfected  what,  under 
other  circumstances,  might  have  proved  a  very  unequal 
character,  to  say  the  least.  Watched  and  guided,  she  gives 
a  fair  promise  of  becoming  a  most  superior  woman ;  the 
performance  of  her  parochial  duties  being  really  extraordi- 
nary. She  always  declares,  in  her  usual  frank  manner,  that 
it  was  the  most  blessedly  fortunate  period  of  her  life,  when 
Mr.  Meredith  turned  his  loving  eyes  to  the  thoughtless  and 


OF    BOSTON.  417 

inconsiderate  Dolly.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barclay  regard  Mr. 
•  Meredith  as  the  benefactor  of  their  child,  and  fully  appre- 
ciate the  remarkable  change  he  has  effected  in  her  charac- 
ter. Mr.  Meredith  declares,  however,  that  the  germs  of  all 
this  excellence  were  lying  hidden,  requiring  only  to  be 
brought  forth  through  the  affections,  and  that  his  wife  is 
becoming  every  day  more  and  more  discreet  and  matronly ; 
in  which  opinion  his  fastidious  parish  fully  concur. 

Robert  Redmond  has  returned  home,  bringing  with  him 
his  wife,  who  proves  a  most  agreeable  addition  to  the  society 
of  his  native  city ;  his  young  sister,  very  much  improved  by 
her  travels  ;  and  his  mother  with  such  a  wardrobe  !  and  an 
incomparable  lady's  maid.  Mrs.  Redmond  is  now  more 
helpless  than  ever,  but  she  has  no  housekeeping.  Mrs. 
Robert  takes  that  incumbrance  off  her  hands,  if  any  it  ever 
were,  and  the  above  mentioned  French  soubrette  keeps  her 
most  artistically  and  critically  arrayed  in  the  last  Parisian 
fashions;  and  by  dint  of  keeping  up  an  eternal  chattering 
in  her  mistress's  ears,  has  taught  her  a  curious  admixture  of 
broken  French  ;  and  she  wades  through  interminable  vol- 
umes of  George  Sand,  Eugene  Sue,  and  Alexander  Dumas 
in  their  original  tongue,  no  longer  discussing  the  transla- 
tions, and  all  this  she  gained  by  her  foreign  tour. 

Mrs.  Dionysius  Hornblower  followed  her  fj\mily  shortly 
after.  There  never  was  too  much  of  the  little  Benedict 
before  his  marriage,  and  that  event  had  apparently  ab- 
stracted an  integrant  part  of  his  outer  man ;  for  such  a 
nonentity,  morally  and  physically,  had  never  before  been 
exhibited.  But  he  was  a  Southerner,  and  finding  the  snow 
wreaths  taller  than  himself,  and  that  many  people  thought 
his  syntax  required  reforming,  he,  for  the  first  time  in  his 
marital  condition,  '  spoke  out,'  and  avowed  liis  fixed  deter- 
mination to  leave  Boston.  Tin's  was  asserted,  to  be  sure, 
with  fear  and  trembling,  but  still  the  mighty  words  were 
uttered,  and  Jane  feared  the  consequences  to  her  frail  part- 
ner if  she  remained;  so  she  left  and  emigrated  to  Florida. 


418  THE    BARCLAYS 

Johnny  Barclay,  now  an  aspirant  for  high-heel  boots, 
says  that,  if  Mr.  Hornblower  has  found  a  wife,  he  thinks 
his  own  chance  is  not  a  bad  one,  and  shall  govern  himself 
accordingly. 

Mr.  Gordon  has  just  been  elected  to  a  high  official  station, 
which  gratifies  his  wife  immensely,  and  himself  not  a  little. 
Mrs.  Rosevelt  still  continues  firm  in  the  faith  that  sailor's 
wives  are  the  happiest  women  in  the  world. 

Captain  Williams  received  from  the  Italian  woman's 
husband  a  most  grateful  letter,  and  a  present  in  money, 
which  vastly  reconciled  Mrs.  Betsy  to  that  person^  whom,  by 
the  bye,  she  has  never  seen,  and  never  wishes  to  behold. 

And  Georgiana  Seaton,  —  will  she  marry  Gerald  Sander- 
son ^  This  is  a  question  so  often  mooted  in  her  circle  that 
it  is  worn  threadbare,  and  yet  is  of  constant  recurrence. 
The  shade  of  the  lost  husband  too  frequently  passes  between 
the  young  and  widowed  creature  and  her  lover,  overwhelm- 
ing her  with  sorrow,  all  the  more  heavily  since  she  feels 
obliged  to  conceal  it.  It  is,  in  fact,  a  mixed  emotion  ;  an 
undefined  sentiment  which  prevents  the  entire  expansion  of 
Georgiana's  love  for  Gerald.  She  acknowledges  this  love  to 
herself  and  her  mother,  but  at  the  same  time  protests  she 
can  never  marry  the  object  of  her  affection.  She  declares 
that  a  passion  so  pure  and  disinterested  as  his,  demands  the 
possession  of  a  virgin  heart,  —  a  first  love;  and  that  she 
cannot  bestow,  and  she  does  not  believe  that  her  lover  would 
rest  satisfied  with  what  she  can  offer  in  return  for  the  wealth 
of  affection  which  he  would  lavish  upon  her,  however  he 
might  be  persuaded  to  the  contrary ;  but  that  time  would 
certainly  disabuse  him  of  his  illusions,  and  inevitable  un- 
happiness  would  ensue. 

We  must  all,  she  thinks,  have  in  this  world  something  to 
love  and  cherish.  She  has  her  parents,  her  family,  and 
friends  ;  her  interests  will  in  time  all  centre  completely  in 
these  attractive  objects,  and  Gerald  Sanderson  will  find  a 
partner  to  share  his  lot  who  can  entirely  respond   to  his 


OF    BOSTON.  419 

ardent  and  enthusiastic  nature  ;  whereas  with  himself  there 
would  be  an  aching  void  in  his  breast,  a  rankling  wound-, 
hidden,  at  first,  but  ever  ready  to  be  probed  to  the  quick  at 
the  slightest  suspicion  of  a  diminution  of  her  affection.  To 
this  conclusion  she  has  come  at  last,  that  marriage  is  not  an 
all-important  and  essential  portion  of  woman's  happiness. 
There  are  other  fields  in  which  to  seek  it,  and  those  should 
be  tried  in  all  cases  where  doubts  and  fears  predominate. 
No  shadow  should  ever  fall  upon  the  marriage  vow. 

But  above  all,  she  religiously  believes  that  having  deviated 
from  the  path  of  rectitude,  having  erred  in  her  relations  with 
her  beloved  parents,  she  is  bound  to  make  all  possible  expi- 
ation and  devote  her  life  to  them.  She  has  then  decided^ 
irrevocably,  she  thinks,  that  she  shall  not  unite  her  destiny 
with  the  man  of  her  choice  ;  and  when  a  New  England 
woman  comes  to  a  fixed  determination  conscientiously^  there 
is  little  room  for  change.  Upon  other  grounds,  opinions  and 
high  resolves  may  be  susceptible  of  variation,  but  a  resolu- 
tion based  upon  such  all-dominant  principles  as  conscience 
and  duty  combined,  is  sure  to  be  considered  as  indestructi- 
ble;  and  it  may  be  then  fairly  concluded,  that,  clinging  to 
her  own  happy  home,  the  young  creature,  whose  trials  have 
engrossed  a  large  portion  of  this  simple  Boston  story,  will 
forever  remain  the  affectionately  devoted  daughter,  Georgi- 
ana  Seaton. 


'V 


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